


Before 19 Years

by rideswraptors



Series: Before and After [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: But he did follow through on his shit, F/M, Future Fic, Harry and Draco brotp, I don't like Snape, I really wanted them to be friends, Weddings, also I needed better stuff for ginny, even though he was shitty about it, he was good to Draco, she does NOT get enough credit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rideswraptors/pseuds/rideswraptors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Draco gets invited into the Potter-Weasley fold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harry Finds Draco

**Author's Note:**

> So. I am going to Universal in the fall. I'm so stoked that I dug this thing up from its grave on my hard drive and figured I'd post it here after all. This is not a Drarry fic. I REPEAT: THIS IS NOT A DRARRY FIC. Nothing wrong with Drarry, just not my cuppa. Please ignore my terrible attempt at British English, I'm an American after all. If the slang/idioms are wrong, let me know in the thingy (I'm obsessed with learning those things).  
> *1/21/16* As I've updated this, the focus has shifted to Draco, for whatever godforsaken reason. I don't even really "like" Draco. I guess I wish he'd had more of a redemption arc. I like to think the Trio and Company would eventually make peace with him.

                 Perhaps the trip would have been much easier if he had just apparated, but Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that the train was more appropriate. A midnight train to Scotland. He had only received the information of Draco Malfoy’s whereabouts the morning before; if he had put any thought into it, he would have talked things over with Ron and Hermione. But he hadn’t been thinking. It was pure impulse. And Harry didn’t want the three of them to know what he was doing. He didn’t want them to worry. He didn’t want them to try to stop him. He had to see Draco again. He had to be sure.

                 The train rushed right along, ignoring the rain and fall gusts. The night was perfectly dark and awful, and only made Harry more nervous.

                 He had been right not telling them what he was doing. Hermione would have been furious anyway. The wedding was in a few days and Harry was supposed to be helping. In all fairness, she could do more than half of what he was supposed to do with a flick of her wand. But Hermione’s parents wanted to be involved in the planning and set up; that meant as little magic as possible, if only to make them more comfortable. Ron rolled his eyes. Molly complained. Ginny and Harry sat off in a corner laughing at the spectacle they all made. Ginny. He had plans for her, but this first. He had to see Draco first.

                 Two hours later, the train pulled into the Scotland station. Harry hadn’t a clue where to go, so instead of spending the money on a cab, he quickly turned a corner, covering himself in the invisibility cloak and apparated to the address Kingsley had given him. Good old Kingsley. Hadn’t asked a single question about why Harry would want to know where Malfoy was. Harry appeared in front of a quaint little house surrounded by vast fields and trees. The rain was coming down hard, so he mumbled a water-proofing charm and examined the residence more comfortably from under the cloak. It wasn’t at all what Harry would picture as grown up Draco Malfoy’s home. It was small, with flower beds, green shutters and white paneling. It had all the air of an abandoned cottage. Maybe Kingsley had been wrong. Maybe the information had been corrupted or something. There had to be a better explanation.

                 These thoughts were quelled when the bright red door to the house opened, light flooding onto the water soaked stoop. A man, white blond hair and pale gray eyes, stood in the lighted opening looking around in the darkness for something. He seemed confused, as if he were expecting someone. Harry heard a female voice from inside which had gained the man’s full attention and he shut the door leaving invisible Harry in the darkness again. He went to the window whose shutters had been left open, he saw through the foggy panes a man and a woman at dinner. A very pretty woman, lovely pale skin with rosy cheeks and bright red hair. The man seemed relaxed, happy even. He was smiling brilliantly as the woman across from him laughed.

                 Draco was married? Married and living in Scotland? It seemed so unreal. But then again, everything about the past few years felt unreal. Harry shuddered when Draco’s gaze was drawn to the window; a flash of suspicion had flitted across his old enemy’s face but quickly passed. He had forgotten for a moment that he was wearing the cloak.

                 It should have been enough to see him, to see what he was doing. But it wasn’t. From some spark of insanity, Harry went to the door and knocked. Inside, he could hear Draco getting up again, the woman complaining. Apparently Draco made some snap comment because the woman laughed.

                 When the door opened, Harry was confronted by Draco’s confused face. The cloak.

                 “Oh, sorry…” Harry mumbled pulling the cloak off. Draco’s wand was in his face in a moment, a tight line forming on his brow.

                 “Potter! What do you want? How did you find me?”

                 “I work in the Auror’s office, Malfoy. Aurors can find anyone.” Draco didn’t lower his wand, if anything, he looked more threatening. Harry didn’t touch his. He hadn’t known what to expect from their first meeting. He hadn’t given it any thought. It had all been so sudden.

                 “Damon?” came the woman’s voice from within, “Damon? Who’s there?” She had a heavy Scottish accent. Harry remembered her red hair. Draco stiffened upon hearing the woman’s voice. Whatever it was he was thinking, it prevented him from blasting Harry to hell. Damon?

                 “Lower your wand, Malfoy, I’m not here for trouble,” Harry said with a quiet seriousness. Their rivalry had been many things: antagonistic, toxic. But they had never lied to each other. Strange. The man who was his greatest rival and enemy in school was someone he had always been perfectly honest with. Draco seemed to trust this. He had no reason not to. In fact, it was Harry that had prevented the Malfoys from being executed by the Ministry. The things that they had done…all of it was punishable by death. Harry had stopped it. Awful as they were, Narcissa had saved his life in the Forest. And Draco…well, Harry was still trying to figure that one out.

                 Draco lowered his wand. “Put that damned thing away,” he said impatiently pointing at the cloak, “Maire doesn’t know about magic.” The white blond haired man turned and went into the light of the house, leaving the door open. Harry was being invited in. Harry charmed the cloak to hideable size and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. It was cozy and warm. Nothing like Malfoy mansion. There was a fire burning in the fire place, blankets strewn about the well-used furniture. Books. A telly. Carpets over hardwood floors. Vases of flowers, pictures of the couple. All very domestic, decorated with a woman’s touch. Harry couldn’t picture Draco Malfoy living here.

                 “Damon?” He heard the woman say again. But that’s right. Draco wasn’t Draco anymore. He was Damon.

                 “In here, Potter.”

                 Harry walked into the dining room that he had seen through the window. Draco/Damon had his arm around the woman’s waist, her glance was bouncing back and forth between them.

                 “Maire,” Draco started, “this is Harry Potter. He’s a bit of a celebrity back where I’m from.” Harry rolled his eyes at this, which Draco found amusing. But Maire’s eyes went a bit wide.

                 “ _Harry_ Potter? The boy from school, you were telling me about?” she asked moving to shake Harry’s hand.

                 “Yes dear,” Draco was more than a little annoyed by that revealed fact. “Potter, this is Maire Snape. My wife.”

                 Snape. Damon Snape. Harry weakly shook the woman’s hand as he stared at Malfoy. Malfoy’s gaze was equally steady. There was an understanding there that made Maire visibly uncomfortable.

                 “Well then, laddies. I’ll leave you to it. Shall I get you some tea? You must be shivering something fierce, Mr. Potter. You English boys don’t take to the Scottish cold very well. Had to wrap my Damon in blankets every day during his first winter.” Draco smiled softly, letting out a quiet snort as he broke eye contact with Harry.

                 “That would be lovely, Mrs. Snape, thank you.” She smiled brightly, went to kiss Malfoy’s cheek, and disappeared through a swinging door. Draco and Harry were silent for a moment, trying to think of where to begin. Harry sat at the table as Draco stood by the window.

                 “She’s lovely,” Harry said without hesitating.

                 “Very.”

                 “A muggle, then?”

                 “Surprised?” Draco said sardonically, tossing a glance back at Harry.

                 “Only a bit. War has a way of changing people, even a prejudiced git like you.”

                 Draco snorted, half smirking. “You’re still a self-righteous tosser, Potter.”

                 “Well, not everything changes,” Harry admitted with a bit of a laugh. This was strange, for the both of them, he was sure. A calm conversation, not charged or hate-filled. They were quiet for a moment, allowing the idea to settle.

                 “What do you want Potter? I know you didn’t come all the way from the Burrow just to drop in for a chat.” There was that old hint of the snarl in his voice. But it was milder. Sadder.

                 “How did you know I was at the Burrow?”

                 Draco laughed a little maliciously. “You’re joking right? Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, the great Harry Potter’s best mates and cohorts in bringing down the Dark Lord, getting married? Do you not read the paper?”

                 It was true. Hermione had been called up endlessly for interviews. They wanted the whole story, pictures. They even wanted comments from Harry and the family. Then they found out about Harry and Ginny. The whole thing had been a mess for months. A headache. And Rita Skeeter. That heinous bint. She had gone to Hungary to get Viktor Krum’s feelings about it. According to the papers he was weepy and pining over Hermione, but after that had been published, he had showed up at the Burrow to congratulate the two excitedly and even introduced them to his wife of over a year. It had been a welcome reunion, and Ron invited them both to the wedding. And shortly after this encounter, if only to humiliate Skeeter, Dean Thomas, who worked for the Daily Prophet, wrote a short article about the reconciliation between the couple and Krum and how ecstatic the famous Quidditch player was for them, even agreeing to attend their wedding. Rita was fired the next day.

                 “Well, you know how I feel about the Prophet.” Draco shrugged and sat at the table.

                 “Bloody Skeeter,” the said in unison. They laughed in appreciation. Skeeter had been brutal regarding the Malfoys’ fall from grace, stalking Draco, writing down all the details of his parents’ trial, even the ones that weren’t true. Maire brought out the tea with a brilliant smile and asked if they needed anything.

                 “No thanks, love,” Draco kissed her hand, “why don’t you go watch the telly for a bit?” She nodded and left. Draco looked up at Harry. “I haven’t found the right time to tell her about all of it. Magic and wizardry and the lot. I’m not sure how she’ll take it.”

                 “If she loves you, she’ll understand.”

                 “Maybe.” There was a pause.

                 “But you did tell her something. You told her about me.”

                 Draco rolled his eyes with a sigh, “Snippets. She wanted to know about my childhood, school, what it was like…I tried. You seemed to be the easiest starting point.”

                 “You tell her I was an arrogant wanker who constantly made you look like a spoiled prat?” Harry chuckled. Draco smirked.

                 “Something like that.” But from his tone, Harry knew that wasn’t true at all. There was more to it, just like he had suspected all along. Maire was not the kind of woman to be welcoming towards someone who had hurt or humiliated her husband. She was a good woman, that much Harry could see, and perhaps Draco had been more honest with her than he had ever been with anyone. “Do you remember that first day at school? On the train?” Harry nodded. Neville had just lost Trevor, Ron had been sitting at his side. Draco had introduced himself, offering friendship. “My father told me that I should befriend you. Get close to you. He said it would be “beneficial” to the family. That was the word he used _beneficial_. Like you would have improved our reputation or something. It didn’t make sense to me then, but I hated you when you refused. Thought you were a right bastard.” Draco took to stirring his tea. “In retrospect? I’m almost glad you did.”

                 “But maybe it would have been easier…”

                 “No.”

                 “I could have…”

                 “What?” Draco asked with a sad smile, “Saved me?” The blond man tilted his head sardonically sympathetic. “Oh Potter, you had more important things to save. That ginger of yours, Hogwarts, the world.”

                 “That doesn’t mean…”

                 “I don’t want your pity, Harry.” Draco said straightening to lean back into his chair. There was definitely something different about him. A calm. A sense of peace, maybe? Harry couldn’t quite pin it. But the demons were gone. The arrogance was gone. Resolved humility. “I did what I had to do for my family. Just the same as you. Unfortunately, they picked my side for me. I was always just a pawn. Just like you.” He got up to stare out of the window again.

                 There it was. The simple truth of it. Everything had been predetermined; they were predestined to be enemies, to hate each other. Draco was meant to serve Voldemort, to fail. Harry was meant to stop Voldemort, to die in the process. But there was more.

                 “Yes,” Harry agreed, “we were used. Awfully used. I had to reconcile it that day at Hogwarts. I had to forgive. But don’t you see, Draco? We were both given second chances.”

                 “Draco…No one’s called me that in so long.” He was eerily quiet, musing over the circumstance. “You seemed surprised when I told you my new last name.”

                 “Snape.” Harry repeated quietly. Draco nodded. “You didn’t come to the funeral.”

                 “I was held up in court. My mother, her trial wasn’t going well…they needed more proof. I was trying to find it. I got so sidetracked that I forgot…” Draco inhaled sharply, glancing back at Harry, “I was told the service was small, dignified. And I visited his grave before I left. It was beautiful.”

                 “He deserved at least that much. I wish I could have done more, but I had to do it alone, there was so much going on…”

                 “You? You organized his funeral?” Draco whipped around then, his pale eyes wide and confused. “You hated him. He betrayed you and your beloved Dumbledore. Why would _you_ go to the trouble?”

                 His words were once again hate-filled, toxic, and draining. Harry’s gut filled with guilt. With remorse. With pity. Everyone had responded in much the same way. Confusion, spite. There had been three, maybe four other people who attended the service. It had rained. Harry had wanted it done right. He hadn’t wanted the Ministry to just dump Severus into a mass grave with the other Death Eaters without family or friends. No one had protested much when he requested a private service for Snape. No one had really cared. Only Ron, Ginny, and Hermione had come with him. They were the only ones who knew about Snape, and only the pieces that he had told them. The world would know soon enough.

                 “There was a lot I never knew. Things I wish someone had told me before.” Eyebrows curved with confusion and grief, Draco sat back at the table.

                 “Tell me.”

                 And so he did. Harry told him everything: Snape’s relationship with Harry’s mother, James’ bullying, Snape’s pledge to Dumbledore, what had really happened in the tower that day, Snape’s double agency in his last years, and how Snape had died. A tear slipped from Draco’s eyes at that last story. It must have been guilt. Had Voldemort known, Draco would have been the one to die. Harry was sure Snape would have prevented it. Harry told him about the pensieve and everything else he could think of. “I don’t think he knew a single day of kindness after my mother died. Dumbledore used him, and he hated me for it. Hated everyone for it. But he tried.  He died a good man.”

                 Draco remained silent for a moment after Harry finished. “I think I knew,” he admitted slowly. “I think I knew about your mother and that Severus was still close to Dumbledore. He was my mentor. We were close. He wanted me to stay away from you, let you be. He never told me why, he never favored you, but there was something in his voice when he talked about you. Hate, but defensiveness. It infuriated me, but he never would explain.” Draco smiled sadly, “That would do it, though.” Harry didn’t say anything, but took a sip of tea. It was warm and delicious. Very strong. It settled in his bones, bringing a glow to his cheeks. Draco’s pale gray eyes met with Harry’s. “Severus was like a father to me. I’ve always regretted not being there. Thank you, Potter.”

                 “I only wish I could have done more.”

                 Draco nodded, sighing, obviously wanting to change the subject.

                 “I do have a question, though,” Harry said slowly. Draco arched a brow. “That day. At your house, when Bellatrix wanted you to identify me. You knew it was me. It would have made everything better for you to just have said yes. I asked you in the Room of Requirement but you never answered. Why didn’t you tell her it was me?”

                 Draco swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I was scared. My mother was falling apart. They tortured my father almost every day, made me watch. So many people were dying, there was always so much blood. I think the only hope I had was you. I thought: If anyone can stop me from doing this, it’s Potter. I’ll do whatever they want, try whatever they need me to do, but Potter will stop me. He’ll fix it. So when Aunt Bella wanted me to give you up…I …I just couldn’t.” He laughed half-heartedly, “I suppose it didn’t make much of a difference, did it? Just made me a coward.”

                 Harry nodded. “Maybe.”

                 Draco dragged a hand across his mouth, looking down and away from Harry. There were obvious tears in his eyes. But if Draco’s past few years had been anything like Harry’s, then Harry was sure Draco wouldn’t have any tears left.

                 “Ever think how it might have been different?” Harry asked.

                 “What?”

                 “I mean, the two of us. What if things had been different? What if my parents hadn’t died and yours hadn’t sided with Voldemort?” Draco winced at the name. “What if we had been grown up together? Been friends.”

                 “I try not to think like that. It’s useless. Things happened the way they happened, Potter, we can’t change that.”

                 “What I’m trying to say is that we can change it now. We have this second chance, this opportunity no one thought we would, that no one ever would have given us.”

                 “I suppose.”

                 “Shouldn’t we use it?”

                 “To what end? Maire and I move to England? We get house next to you and the Weasley girl? Raise our kids together? Send them off to Hogwarts? Don’t be a prat.”

                 “What’s stopping you?”

                 Fear. That had always been Draco’s biggest weakness. He was too proud to admit it. Too afraid to admit it. Draco Malfoy and his family would never be well received in the wizarding world. Too much had happened. The name was spoiled. And that had always been a Malfoy preoccupation: Reputation. Here, in Scotland, no prying eyes would comment on his new life. They wouldn’t snoop or criticize or laugh. He didn’t have to read the paper condemning all of his family and friends. He wasn’t a villain here. In Scotland with Maire, Draco was just Damon Snape, the English boy who married the girl next door.

                 “They don’t want me there. I can’t face it, not like this. Not alone.”

                 “But you’re not alone anymore, Draco. You have Maire.”

                 “She doesn’t know anything. She doesn’t know what my family’s done. What _I’ve_ done. If she did…I don’t think she’d stay. Maire’s too good for me, Harry. She’s completely innocent. Kind. And me? I’m just a spoiled, selfish prig who was okay with watching the world burn as long as it didn’t cause me any trouble.”

                 “You’re not the same man.”

                 “What are you trying to accomplish, Potter? I don’t need you to tell me that I’m good now and forgiven and that everything will be all right. It’s not true. I can’t take back what I did. I can’t even begin to make up for it. No one can.”

                 Harry, in a rush and without thinking, reached across the table to place his hand on Draco’s forearm.

                 “You could _try_. Don’t you think it’s what Snape would have wanted? For you to get away? To beat Voldemort at his own game? Escape the life he had? You have a chance, Draco, a chance at a new life with the possibility of love and happiness. I had to kill Voldemort to beat him, to stop him. But every day that you don’t move on, that you’re unhappy or stuck in the misery he inflicted on you is another day that he gets to live. He wins.”

                 “What, so you’re responsible for me now?” Draco jerked his arm away, “You have to make sure that every thought and memory of him is gone?”

                 Harry looked away, pulling his hand back. “There was a prophecy. Trelawney made it before she was hired. _Neither can live while the other survives_. It was always me or him. He made it that way. And he’s gone, I know that, but I can still feel him. I can still feel their tug of fear when they say his name. And this house? It’s drenched in him.” Harry stood. There really was nothing else to talk about. He started to go.

                 “Potter…” Draco started, but he fell short. Harry still paused for a moment.

                 “If you do everything because of him, Malfoy, then he still has influence over you. I would think, because of Maire, you would do everything to prevent that.”

                 Maire must have sensed the lull in the conversation and came back into the dining room.

                 “Everything all right then, lads?”

                 “Yes dear,” Draco said moving to stand beside her, “Harry was just leaving.”

                 “But Damon, it’s late, and dark, and raining. Any friend of yours is welcome to stay.”  _Friend_. So there it was. Draco had lied. He did imagine how it might have been. He still had hope, Harry hoped.

                 “That’s quite all right, Mrs. Snape. I don’t have to travel very far.”

                 “But…”

                 “I insist. I’m afraid my lady back home wouldn’t appreciate me being gone so long.” He shook her hand again, “Thank you for your hospitality. You’re husband’s a good man.” He gave Draco a pointed look.

                 “Of course.” She was obviously confused. They followed him to the door. Harry looked out at the rain. He was going to get wet before he apparated. Ginny would notice. It was symbolic in a way, the rain. Washed away everything. New start. He turned to look back at them with a smirk.

                 “Uhh.. D-amon, you know, Maire Malfoy, it’s got a pretty ring to it.”

                 “Go Potter, Ginny’s waiting.”

                 The two, years removed from their school rivalry, their hatred, nodded at each other. The past was the past. And perhaps now, they could move on. “Of course.” He smiled, “I’ll be going then. Snape, if you please?” Draco grinned and shut the door. Harry could still hear their voices, Maire asking why he had shut the door so abruptly, and who were the Malfoys? She wanted to make sure he had a way of getting home. But by the time she got back to the door and opened it, Harry Potter was safely at home.

                 “Damon, where did he go? What’s going on?”

                 Draco was quiet, ignoring her questions. He didn’t feel the need to answer anything. There were years for that. Years and years and years now. Still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he hadn’t seen the last of Harry Potter. The man was annoyingly persistent. But nothing had to be resolved or decided that evening. He had a lot of explaining to do for Maire.

                 “Let’s go to bed, Maire. We’ll talk in the morning.” His pale eyes flicked over the dark storminess outside once more before he shut the door again. “Everything will be different in the morning.”


	2. The Proposal

                 Everything had gone off without a hitch. Just as Hermione had planned. Brilliant she was, that Hermione. The wedding had been beautiful and simple and it might have been smaller if Mrs. Wealsey (Harry supposed he should start calling her Molly because there were getting to be too many Mrs. Weasleys) hadn’t insisted on inviting the whole of the Weasley clan and every imaginable friend or acquaintance. It irritated Hermione to no end, but Harry got the impression that Ron was rather pleased that his mother had thrown up such a fuss about his wedding. Harry chuckled to himself, Ron was rather pleased about the fuss in general. Harry, for one, was glad that he could happily stand in a quiet corner with Ginny, completely unnoticed, as he wished his best mates a happy and brilliant life together. Admittedly, watching Ron and Hermione apparate off to their honeymoon was a little bittersweet. It made him a sad, nostalgic. But not lonely. Harry was never lonely now.

                 The honeymoon. Again, he chuckled. No one, except Ron, knew where the newlyweds were to spend the next month. According to the groom, it was a surprise. Months before, he had demanded that Hermione give him something useful to do. This led to days of arguing and bickering (which typically led to snogging after Ron made one of his famous speeches) until Ron settled on the honeymoon. Hermione informed Harry that he was not to worry if she returned from the trip alone, she had simply killed Ronald and fed him to nargles. And now that he thought about it, Hermione had probably spent too much time with Luna lately.

                 But now, after the couple had left and most of the guests had gone home, the Burrow was quiet as Harry roamed through it. Calm. He still wasn’t used to it. No more looking over his shoulder, no more burning scar. From pure habit, he would touch it now and again, but more as a reminder. Every piece of Voldemort was dead. The nightmares came often, though. Remnants, memories, he had never quite figured out what to call them. He still wasn’t used to Hedwig being gone. He couldn’t believe Dobby would never pop back into his life. Or that Remus would never see his grown son. Or that a world could exist with just a George and no Fred. The whole of it haunted him, plagued him. Give it time, Arthur kept telling him, give it time. But Harry had the feeling it would take more than just time for him to settle into this new life. Four years, it had been four years. And it was strange and sad and wonderful.

                 The old people had gathered in the living room armed with hot butterbeer and nostalgic conversation. Harry leaned against the doorframe as the familiar names and his own memories swept over him. But he wasn’t there to remember the past, he was looking for his future. Ginny sat near the fireplace with Teddy Lupin, playing some sort of hand game. Instead of going to her, Harry paused to watch. Nothing had been easy after That day. That day. They never called it what it was: the final battle of the war. Everyone had lost so much; the effects had been devastating, so much so that those who had been there kept a paranoid watch over each other. Families birthed from war. Neville and Luna were always coming around. They saw Seamus and Dean from time to time. George kept to the shop; he and Angelina had just moved in together. Harry saw Hagrid, McGonagall, Flitwick, Trelawney, and Slughorn once a week for tea. He would even go see Aberforth. Everything had changed. Everything except Ginny and how he felt about her. Their resumed relationship certainly hadn’t been easy. After the funeral, they had spent the remainder of the spring and summer together before she went back to finish school. He and Ron had been busy with Auror training. And just when they thought there might be a break, Ginny had been recruited for Quidditch, and Harry had been recruited to help hunt down the remainder of Voldemort’s followers who were stirring up trouble in Eastern Europe. Not everyone had paid for their crimes yet, but they would, soon enough. Between her training and his hunting, the separation was brutal. Harry had come to the decision that it was time. He never wanted to hear Ginny scream the way she had when she thought he was dead in Hagrid’s arms again. Never. He made his decision.

                 Ginny must have sensed his presence there because she got up to put Teddy on his grandmother’s lap and walked right up to him, a concerned hand resting on his torso and a peck landing on his cheek, but she moved away before he could catch her for another.

                 “Everything all right?”

                 “Yeah. Fine.”

                 She rolled her eyes, “I hate it when you say that.” She paused, looked back at her family who wouldn’t notice her absence and then back at him with those fiery bright brown eyes. “Walk?” she asked without really asking. It had become a thing with her, Ron, and Hermione: whose turn is it to “walk Harry”? In his defense, it was sheer restlessness, an unproductive misery that only constant and equally unproductive movement could shake. Every once in a while, the feeling would creep over him in the middle of the night, and Ron, hearing him get up, would follow him quietly through the city streets. Harry and Ron had been sharing a flat in downtown London and the girls lived in that same building, just like the old days. Sometimes, when that restlessness hit him, they would go knock on the girls’ door and the four of them would wander through London, Diagon Alley, or anywhere they felt like apparating. They would just walk. Thinking. Remembering. One such occasion had led them to Malfoy Manor. Or rather, it had led Harry to Malfoy Manor, the others were completely against the idea. The place was deserted, but if the past few years had taught them anything it was the power a place can have over people.  Hermione couldn’t stand being there, so Ron had apparated her back home. But Ginny had stayed. They stood there, the two them, for nearly an hour staring at the gates.

                 “Have you seen him?” she had asked.

                 “No.” A pause.

                 “Do you want to?” It was scary the way her mind worked, but Harry had long since gotten over how they complemented and anticipated the other. Hermione had said he would get used to it, but even she admitted it was strange that each always knew what the other was thinking. And it was more than strange for Harry, having someone know him so intimately. Sure, Ron and Hermione knew most of it; they had been there through the madness. They just _knew_. But there were some things that he had held back, some thoughts that he had kept to himself. They both knew he did, and at times Harry almost believed they were grateful for not knowing. Some things are just too horrible, too dark, and they had all had their fair share of darkness. Ginny insisted on him talking about it and he found it amazingly easy to do so with her once he got started. She knew what it felt like, having Voldemort in your head. She had nightmares too.

                 Harry had told her a lot about Draco. Not everyone knew what his involvement with Voldemort exactly entailed, but he explained it all to Ginny. How he had been trying to kill Dumbledore, how he couldn’t, how he didn’t identify him to Bellatrix. All of it. Ginny tried to be understanding about it all, but she refused to sympathize with a Malfoy if only on principle. No one had heard from Draco since his trial. The court had found him innocent by reasons of coercion and life-threatening circumstances. Not everyone had been so lucky, especially not his parents who were currently serving consecutive life sentences in Azkaban. The ministry was actually debating whether to keep dementors around anymore and Harry had promised to be an expert witness should they ever need it. Lupin and Dumbledore would have liked that. Shortly after his parents had been sentenced, Draco had sold the manor and disappeared. It would be easy to find him, he was being tracked. Harry had felt that he needed to.

                 Ginny was leading him to the gardens, to that open space where he and the Weasley children had played Quidditch until dark. He could still hear the loud bickering and banter of false accusations of cheating. Harry smiled.

                 “I found Draco,” he informed her quietly. It was a perfect fall night. Breezy and chilly, the sun sitting low in the autumn-gold fields. He felt a smaller hand glide into his. Ginny was unsettled by the use of the name, but remained unsurprised.

                 “You went to see him, then?” Harry had disappeared two nights before. It was only for a few hours but Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were waiting for him in Ron’s room when he got back. He had made up some excuse which Ron and Hermione, exhausted from wedding planning, accepted without a thought. Ginny knew.

                 “He’s living in a small village in Scotland. Near muggles. He’s changed his name.” Now Ginny was surprised.

                 “Guilt, do you think?”

                 “I don’t know. He was quiet. And different. I can’t explain it, but I think Draco Malfoy really did die that day.” It wasn’t sadness or sympathy. It was just pity and a strange connection.

                 “Do you really believe that?” No. He didn’t. But he didn’t say it either. Draco wasn’t the real point of this conversation, he had to remind himself.

                 “Ginny, it was a pure stroke of luck that I didn’t turn out like Malfoy.” She had heard this before and had argued vehemently against the logic, but she stayed quiet and listened. “If I hadn’t been chosen, if things had been decided differently, I could have been him. I might have been the one to lose everything.”

                 “You’re not Malfoy, Harry.”

                 “I know, I know. But… we’re still connected somehow. I feel like, in another world or another time, we might have been friends.”

                 “Harry…”

                 “Don’t you see? I lost everything and then gained more than I could have ever hoped for. Malfoy had everything! Everything that I had ever wanted. But lost it, all of it, in the end. He was trying to save his family.”

                 “He chose the wrong side. It wasn’t luck, Harry, it was never luck.”

                 “It terrifies me.”

                 Ginny sighed heavily, “You make me nervous when you start talking like that.” She sat down on next to the old oak tree, still holding his hand and looking up at him. “Reminds me of the time you broke up with me to run off and save the world…again.” He half-smiled as she tugged him down beside her.

                 “I didn’t save everyone.” Ginny brushed back a few locks of his now shaggy hair, her hand sliding to his chin which she softly lifted so their eyes met.

                 “That’s because they were busy trying to save you.”

                 “I never asked for that.” Her hand moved to his cheek and he kissed the palm before she moved it away.

                 “It was never about asking. They all loved you, Harry. You fought for them and they loved you for it.” Harry had to look away. No matter how much time might pass, he was positive he could never accept that fact, so many had died.

                 “Harry,” Ginny said with more than a hint of worry in her voice, “Harry, where is this coming from?” These, of course, were things he rarely discussed. People were eager to move on and rebuild. Perhaps it was easier for them, they had only seen bits and pieces of the destruction, of what Voldemort was really capable. Harry had seen everything; he’d been inside the Dark Lord’s mind, he had died just to kill the bastard, and still people had suffered. He hadn’t been able to stop it, to save them all. There was nothing he could do to make up for that. Nothing. Nothing, except live. He could live a life that would make them all proud; he could be happy, he could carry on in their names, tell their stories, and share what they had done for him and for the world. He wanted that so desperately sometimes that it was too much. Swallowing back tears, he whipped his head back to Ginny’s sweetly worried face. “Harry?”

                 “I love you.”

                 “I know.”

                 “Do you love me?”

                 “You know I do.”

                 “Do you have any doubts about us?”

                 “I am seriously doubting my capacity not to kick you right now, what are you getting at?” she asked, shifting herself uncomfortably, but her eyes were still locked on the dark-haired boy next to her.

                 “Then marry me.”

                 “What?”

                 “Marry me, Ginerva Weasley, because I don’t want there to be another day of doubt about what I feel for you and what I want for us.”

                 Ginny stared wildly at him for a moment, much like she had the first time he had come to the Burrow before second year. Except now she was beautiful and grown up and tough and brilliant and wonderful. And he was in love with her. Harry Potter wanted to spend the rest of his life with the fire-haired girl sitting beside him under this tree and he didn’t want to waste another second of that life debating whether or not it was a good idea.

                 She pinched him. Hard. “Oi! Bloody hell, Gin!”

                 “Are you _mad_?”

                 “What?”

                 “Has someone placed a curse on you? Stunned your brain?”

                 “I just asked you to _marry_ me!”

                 “I know! To marry you! While you’re running around being all noble and avenging our friends and I’m at practice six days a week with four matches a month! How is it that you’re expecting me to plan a proper wedding around all of that? Hell! A proper marriage?”

                 “We don’t have to have a wedding,” he shrugged, “we can just go to the Ministry.” Harry, honestly, was stunned by her reaction. Though, he shouldn’t have been. He was more startled at being reminded how beautiful Ginny was when she got upset. It was like her whole person was on fire. She pinched him again.

                 “The Ministry? Really? The Ministry? Someone _has_ stolen your wits. You really believe that my mother, _Molly Weasley_ , would let her _only_ daughter get married without a wedding?”

                 Harry sighed, “No…”

                 “Damn right, she wouldn’t,” Ginny snapped crossing her arms and scowling. He was almost afraid to ask.

                 “So… that’s a no, then?” Harry didn’t breathe the entire time she stared blankly at him, as if she couldn’t even process what he was saying.

                 “I never said that.”

                 “You said…”

                 “I sad you were mad. A completely idiotic mad fool,” she grabbed his face and brought it to hers, their lips meeting in that explosion of a moment that nothing really captures except for music. Feeling her body respond to his, the way she moved, and the taste of her. Lord, the taste of her. Their legs twined and her arms went around his neck as he pulled her by the hips closer to him. But he pulled back slightly, teasingly, “You never answered me.”

                 Ginny nuzzled her mouth against his, her hand dropping to his thigh, and smiling when he inhaled just a little too sharply “I thought I just did.”

                 Harry had learned to rise to her challenges, he locked his eyes on hers uncompromisingly and pulled her onto his lap, locking her in his arms. “Say it.”

                 Ginny only smiled and kissed him slowly and thoroughly. “I love you, Harry Potter,” she whispered. She enjoyed this too much. Once, she told him that she was going to get him back for making her teenage years hell, and when he protested that it hadn’t been _his_ fault, she would laugh, kiss him, and walk away. This was obviously one of those moments.

                 “I need to hear you say it.”

                 Ginny’s face got serious then and she slid out of his embrace to kneel in front of him. When he tried to follow, she gently pushed him back down. She didn’t respond to his confused look, but she pushed him so that he was flat on his back in the grass and then she stretched out on top of him. He felt her cheek next to his and her lips by his ear when he put his hands on her hips to steady her there.

                 “Harry Potter,” she said pressing a kiss to the curve of his cheekbone and then his jaw and then next to his ear, “I will marry you, but not because you’re the boy who lived,” she kissed his cheek, “or because you saved me from Voldemort,” and his other, “or because you are a Triwizard Champion” he snorted, she kissed his forehead, “or because you defeated the Dark Lord” she kissed his nose. “No, Harry, I will marry you because you did all those things for the people you love, because you’re the first person I want to see every day, because you’re the only person I want to talk to when I’m sad or scared, and because I may be able to get through the rest of my life without you, but I don’t want to.” Harry surged forward to capture her mouth for a kiss, his need to have her completely stronger than ever. It wasn’t just physical, he didn’t just want her heart. He wanted her soul. He wanted her to be so completely his own that she could never leave him, that she couldn’t survive without him. But that wasn’t his Ginny, she was wild and fiercely independent, she could go anywhere and do anything, but she was choosing to stay. With him.

                 She pulled away slightly, a mischievous grin on her face that reminded him vaguely of Fred, “Not to mention you’re bloody rich. I’ll never have to work a day in my life.” They laughed and Harry rolled her onto her back kissing her smiling mouth again, mad and wonderful girl that she was. If he couldn’t have her soul, he could accept her heart, the proud and stubborn heart of the woman he loved, and he would keep it safe. Keep her safe. He couldn’t think of a better way to spend the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to explain a little about Harry's "I want her soul" bit. I think there's a little of that kind of possessive darkness in him that was in Voldemort and Dumbledore. That he's a little greedy in a small part of himself. But he's better man than both, so it doesn't really come out. He has control of it now that Voldemort's gone.


	3. Draco Finds Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are love, comment in the thingy!

                 Ron sat on the bed as Harry tried to flatten his hair. He was over twenty years old and he still couldn’t get his damned hair to cooperate. Every time he tried, it just sprung back into a mass of jumbled confusion.

                 “I can go get Hermione…” Ron muttered in a sing song-y voice as he flipped through _The Quibbler_.

                 “Shut up.” Ron had been telling him to get Hermione to charm his hair into straightening or flattening, or doing anything but sticking every which direction, really. Harry thought this was a terribly humiliating idea. “I’m nearly twenty five years old and I still can’t manage this mop.” Ron just sniggered. “You’re not helping.”

                 “Well what would you like me to do, sir? Polish your shoes, iron your undergarments?”

                 Harry rolled his eyes again. He should have been used to Ron’s unhelpfulness, but somehow it hadn’t stuck. A thought lingered in the back of Harry’s mind that Ron still wasn’t entirely on board with him and Ginny getting married. It was his attitude and tone of voice that struck Harry whenever the topic was brought up.

                 “Damn nargles are at it again…” Ron muttered under his breath. Harry had to smile. In the past few years, Luna had been around so often that even Ron was growing attached. At first he had started reading _The Quibbler_ only to humor her as if he knew what she was talking about. But Harry had the sneaking suspicion that Ron was truly interested, if only for Luna’s sake, and wanted to be able to talk to her. Not that he would ever admit it.

                 “Ron?”

                 “Yeah,” he responded as if paying attention. He wasn’t.

                 “I need to ask you something.”

                 “Tips for the wedding night? I understand, you’re nervous.”

                 “Honestly Ron, I want you and your _tips_ to be the last thing on my mind when I’m shagging your sister.” Ron scowled as Harry smirked.

                 “Uncalled for, Harry.”

                 “You started it.”

                 “Fair enough…Well, have at it then!”

                 “Are you okay with my marrying Ginny?”

                 “What?” Ron responded blankly, straightening. The magazine was long forgotten, his focus on his friend who wouldn’t look at him. Harry could see Ron in the mirror wanting to have this conversation face to face, but Harry wouldn’t turn around. Instead he kept messing with his hair.

                 “I mean, I talked to your dad about it and your mum, but I never really asked you.”

                 “You’re bringing this up now? An hour before the wedding?”

                 “I guess I didn’t think about it until now.” But their conversation was cut short, a dark haired boy with a lop-sided grin bounded through the door. It was Teddy Lupin, nearly six years old.

                 “Uncle Harry! There’s a man here to see you!” And before Harry could ask who it was, or even begin to respond for that matter, Teddy was skidding down the hallway, an echo of veela laughter trailing him. The most likely culprit was Victoire Weasley. The pair was a nightmare.

                 “You want me to go see?” Ron asked.

                 “No, I’ll go. I don’t think there’s anything left to be done here.” Ron walked with him until the kitchen where his mother ambushed him with a checklist of busy work. Ron protested that he was the best man and should be supporting Harry in his hour of need, but Molly Weasley would have none of it. She gave him orders as she roughly guided him towards trays of food. Harry quietly slipped out the back door and made his way to the front. People had gathered in the gardens, talking and laughing together. Everyone had come; it was quite the affair. Hagrid winked at him from a distance. McGonagall was talking rapidly to Seamus Finnigan. Reporters were there, much to Harry’s displeasure. The Krums, Mr. Diggory, The Weasleys, Prewetts and extensions, Ollivander, Aberforth, and many others. Of Harry’s family, there was a rather large package signed “Big D” which sat on the gift table. Harry smiled. He supposed it was the best they could do given the circumstances; Dudley's new girlfriend was a muggle and he hadn't quite worked up the nerve to "explain" Harry to her. The main goal was to slip by unnoticed, but George caught sight of him.

                 “And here’s the man of the hour!” George bellowed affably to the crowd who all turned to watch. “The boy who lived!” His arm went around Harry so tightly that he couldn’t slip away. In fact, he was partially covering his mouth to prevent protest. “A Triwizard Champion (don’t think we’ve forgotten Potter)! The Chosen One! The hero of the Wizarding World!”

                 “George! Geroff!” Harry said, still struggling a bit.

                 “And he’s going to marry _my_ baby sister! The prettiest, toughest bird this side of England!”

                 “Hear, hear!” people cheered.

                 “Raise your glasses and toast the best bastard and honorary Weasley, Harry Potter!”

                 “Cheers!”

                 “Oi!”

                 “Yay Harry!” The whole crowd went into an uproar. Angelina swooped in and managed to distract George long enough to Harry could slip by. He gave her an appreciative smile and sauntered along the side of the Burrow.

                 What he found at the front gate was all together unexpected. It was Draco Malfoy. And he was alone. He was scratching at the flaking paint on the gate spires and looked very out of place. It had been over a year since Harry’s trip to Scotland, and Draco showed up on the day of his wedding of all days. He looked up from the gate, pale gray eyes showing some relief.

                 “Potter.”

                 “Draco, what are…?”

                 “I heard the noise…I told the boy that if you were busy he shouldn’t bother…”

                 “Teddy’s never had a problem with bothering anyone.”

                 “Teddy?” He was obviously distracted.

                 “The boy. Teddy Lupin.”

                 Draco smiled a little. “That was Lupin’s son? I didn’t know he had a kid before…”

                 “With Nymphadora Tonks.” Draco nodded.

                 “She was my cousin.”

                 “So’s he.”

                 Draco let out a small huff of a laugh. “Strange when you think about it. My father never would have admitted she was related to us, let alone her son. Is he like Remus? Is he…?”

                 “We don’t really know. Nothing so far. Healers say it might not manifest until he comes of age.”

                 “Oh.” Draco trailed off, his attention on the gate again. “And Remus and Nymphadora, they’re both…”

                 “Yeah.”

                 There was a pause, Draco seemed to be considering something. “If he ever needs anything…I mean, he doesn’t need to know, but I can…I mean I would like to…”

                 “If there’s ever anything, I’ll let you know.”

                 “Thank you.”

                 Again the pause. Harry knew this would be difficult. If Draco had come to some decision or conclusion then he would need a moment. He had to do it on his own terms.

                 “So…the wedding…”

                 “Yeah, yeah.” Harry started. “Starts in about an hour. It’s madness back there.”

                 “You nervous?”

                 Harry actually took that into consideration. Was he? He didn’t feel nervous. Just excited. For the first time, he would legitimately be a part of the family, he would have his own family, people who loved him just for him. They hadn’t taken him in because they had to, they cared about him before he had done anything remarkable. It was a dizzy feeling. Unreal. And Ginny. She was so wonderful; she had handled everything remarkably well, even standing up to her mother on proper occasions. If anyone could handle the pressure of becoming Harry Potter’s bride and wife, it was Ginny Weasley. Ginny Potter, soon enough. The thought sent a thrill down his spine.

                 “Surprisingly, no. I’ve never really had a family before.”

                 “Suppose I never thought of it that way. I was always trying to get away from mine.” They laughed together.

                 “Is…Is Luna Lovegood here? Do you see her often?”

                 “Luna? Of course. She’s one of the bridesmaids as a matter of fact. Would you like to…?”

                 “No, no, no. I was just curious. She was always kind to me, even during the trials. I worry after her sometimes; she’s a little too kind.”

                 “Luna’s tougher than she looks. She’s here with Neville, actually.”

                 “Longbottom?” Draco laughed harmlessly enough. “I heard he’s teaching Herbology at Hogwarts.”

                 “Yeah, yeah he loves it.”

                 “He always was rubbish at everything but Herbology. I used to force him to let me copy his assignments.”

                 Harry snickered a little. “Me, too.” The two men laughed together for a moment, remembering times that should have been a lot simpler. “So where’s Maire?”

                 Draco smiled, his eyes dropping to the ground. “At home. She’s not quite used to apparating yet. Muggles, you know? Weak constitutions.”

                 “You’ve told her then.”

                 “Yeah, she took it surprisingly well. Told me she always knew there was something funny about me, and that she wouldn’t have married me if I were just ordinary.”

                 “Good woman.”

                 “Hell of a woman. She sends her regards though.” Draco paused, taking a deep breath. “She wants to move to London now. Meet my family, see my world. I tried to tell her…but she’s stubborn. Insists it’s a good idea.”

                 “It _is_ a good idea.”

                 “There’s a man in London looking for an assistant. He specializes in magical repair. I always liked doing it, enjoyed it. I don’t know…maybe I’ll open a shop in Diagon Alley or something…”

                 “Sounds brilliant.” Harry watched as a bit of a blush crept onto Malfoy’s cheeks. He had a skill. Something to be proud of. Something that didn’t include his family or bloodlines or money. It was one hundred percent Draco and his capability. “You let me know if you need an investor. I’ve got loads of money and nothing to do with it.” They laughed. “Not something I ever thought I’d be saying to _you_.”

                 “Honestly? It’s not something I thought I ever might have to consider.” Harry nodded. The Malfoys had lost everything during the trials. All their money and possessions. Between the lawyers and the confiscations, Draco had very little left besides the manor and he’d been forced into selling that. Harry meant what he said. He didn’t know why he said it, or why it meant so much that he needed to say it, but he meant it. Even Draco, the smug arse from Hogwarts deserved a new life.

                 “It’s a new world out there, Malfoy, you can do whatever you want with it.” They were quiet for a time, Draco not meeting Harry’s gaze.

                  “Anyway Potter, I just came to congratulate you,” he said finally, “My best to the bride.” He started to walk away.

                 “Draco…Draco, wait.” He turned slightly. “You could stay. There’s plenty of food.”

                 Draco winced, seeing something far off that Harry hadn’t caught yet. He tipped his head towards it. “I don’t think Weasley would quite agree with that.” Harry looked behind him. Ron had caught sight of them and was standing with a group of the men watching the pair, wand hands ready to move in a moment. The others looked perturbed, Ron was just concerned. He had started making his way towards Harry, telling the others to stay put. He would deal with it. Harry turned back to see Draco watching him and he shrugged.

                 “It doesn’t need saying, Potter. I don’t belong here.”

                 “You could try.”

                 “I could. But today’s not the day.” He started to go again.

                 “Draco! Why’d you come? Why now?”

                 He looked torn, at a loss maybe, conflicted. “Maire’s pregnant. Found out a couple days ago. I just started thinking…” Ron was in hearing distance. “What you said about thinking what might have been had things been different. I think about them too. I wish things were that way. But we can’t change that now, you know? We can’t change what our parents did. But maybe we can make it better for them. We can try. Do you understand?”

                 Ron had reached Harry’s side, Hermione and Luna close on his heels, all looking very worried. Draco didn’t seem intimidated by their presence and stood waiting for a response. Harry looked at his friends, three of many who had stuck by his side through many a tough situation. And then he looked at Draco. He couldn’t change Draco’s mind. Well, he couldn’t today. And maybe not tomorrow, or the next, or next week, or next year. But he could try. Harry would try.

                 He looked Draco Malfoy square in the eye, with all the meaning and gravity he could muster. “I understand.”

                 “Hello, Draco!” Luna said dreamily from behind him with a little wave. Draco smiled, dipped his head to her, and then was gone.

                 “What was that all about Harry? Do we need to be worried about him?” Ron asked gruffly. Hermione came to stand at Harry’s side, hand on his shoulder, worried gaze searching his expression. Harry quickly regained himself from the conversation. It was a happy day, not one for dwelling in the past. Today was about the future, about the promise of future happiness.

                 “No,” Harry said quickly, “no, he just came to congratulate me. Friendly drop in.”

                 “Malfoy? Friendly?” Ron scoffed. Hermione flicked him on the ear. She glance swiftly back at Harry before retrieving her imperious air. That was something Harry loved about Hermione; her bossiness was sometimes merely a distraction for those who needed a moment to reflect.

                 “Boys, we can talk about this later! Harry we came looking for you, Ginny’s waiting.” And Hermione grabbed Ron’s arm roughly, half dragging him to the ceremony, and he protested the entire way demanding to be released so he could go set up a perimeter. They didn’t need nasty gits like Malfoy showing up and ruining the ceremony. Harry could only chuckle. Luna took his arm gently with that other worldly smile of hers playing across her face.

                 “It’s a big day for you, Harry,” she said happily.

                 “That goes without saying.”

                 “I think my mum would have liked to be here. To see everyone so happy.”

                 “I think my mum would have too. But you know Luna, they’re still here. They’re always with us, especially on days like this.”

                 “I’m glad you know that. I’ve saved Lily and James a seat in the back, nice and quiet. And another one for Sirius, Fred, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Lupin, and Tonks. I didn’t want anyone to notice. They might start calling me _Looney_ again and I didn’t want it to put a negative light on your wedding day.”

                 “That’s a perfectly wonderful idea, Luna. Thank you.”

                 They were quiet again as they walked. It was one of those perfect days when the sky is so blue you could cry. The sun was shining and the wind blew over the grass. It smelled like summer. And it was wonderful.

                 “Draco’s a good boy, Harry. Just a little lost, don’t you think?”

                 Harry smiled and kissed Luna’s hand warmly as they crossed to the backyard. “Yes, Luna. And even better? I think he’s finding his way back.”

                 She beamed. “How nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr! bringonthedeluge


	4. Mental

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So we start mending fences.

                 “Mental,” Ron grumbled, “absolutely mental.”

                 It was six weeks after Harry and Ginny's third wedding anniversary and the young Potter and Weasley couples were being led by Harry to the Leaky Cauldron. Their order of unhappiness from greatest to least was Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and then Harry. Harry was only unhappy because the other three were making such a fuss. Of course, they were making such a fuss because they were meeting the Malfoys for tea.

                 Since Draco had revealed his true nature to his muggle wife, Maire, they had moved back to London from Scotland. She'd been in for a nasty shock when she discovered her beloved husband was considered scum among his own kind. Harry, however, had come to some kind of sympathetic truce with Draco. He even invested in his new magical repair shop and joined the couple for tea or dinner once a week. They had few other friends and Maire was eager to hear more about Draco and learn about wizarding culture. In fact, she wasn't too dissimilar from Hermione in that regard. It turned out she was an avid reader, and Harry was constantly bringing her books to borrow.

                 Too soon, Maire started asking questions that not even Draco knew, and Harry consulted Hermione for answers. Her interest had been piqued at his strangely detailed questions about history and policy and things he'd never taken an interest in. Harry crumbled quickly, and confessed to his new friendship with the Malfoys. Over dinner (that he paid for), he begged the lot of them to come for tea (that he would pay for) so Maire would stop making him feel like an ignoramus. Ginny was resigned, having known all about it from nearly the beginning. Hermione was torn. Ron was furious that he even suggested it. Yet, there they were, walking.

                 “He mocked you for not having parents.”

                 “And Ron for being poor.”

                 “And Mione for being muggle born.”

                 “And the Weasleys for their house and clothes and Ginny for having a crush on you.”

                 “And Hagrid for...well...everything.”

                 “He tried to get Buckbeak killed.”

                 “He always said Dumbledore was a fool.”

                 “Remember when he tricked you into going to the trophy room?”

                 “And sent a snake after Justin during your duel?”

                 “And he did pull that idiotic prank third year with the dementors during your qudditch match.”

                 “He tried to attack you from behind fourth year!”

                 “He ran to Umbridge every chance he got.”

                 “Harry! He tried to _kill_ Dumbledore!”

                 Hermione and Ron swapped horrible Malfoy stories for a solid five minutes and Harry couldn't deny that Draco wasn't giving him much to work with. He'd been an immature, bigoted, arrogant wanker almost all of his life. Harry couldn't blame the two of them for resenting Draco's bullying. Ginny stayed silent, squeezing his hand reassuringly. She'd already gone through her list of complaints several times over.

                 “All right!” Harry growled. “Enough, I get it. I know. I was there remember?” The two of them snapped their mouths shut. Harry felt bad for lashing out; the only reason they came was because _he_ had asked them to. Their concern was his well-being after all. Ron actually only agreed to come to make sure Draco didn't attack him, despite the lack of logic behind that intention. “I'm not saying he's completely changed. I'm just saying he's different. And for the last time, Ron, his wife is not confunded.” Ron closed his mouth again. “Remember how Snape and Sirius always hated each other? They were working for the same thing and couldn't stand each other. Snape would have turned Sirius over to the dementors given half the chance. Even after they knew he was innocent!” It hadn't occurred to Harry until later that part of the reason Snape hated Sirius so much was due to his involvement in Lily Potter's death. Snape blamed Sirius until the day he died. “The way I see it, we all did some awful things to each other at school. We were convinced he opened the Chamber of Secrets, remember?” Ginny flinched a little and Harry kissed her hand. “All I ask is that you give him a chance. One time. And then you can tell him to bugger off.”

                 “ _Harry_!”

                 “I'm serious Hermione! He was the worst to you and we all know it.”

                 They stopped in front of the Leaky Cauldron, couples facing each other, waiting for the decision to be made. Ron would do whatever Hermione did. So would Harry.  Ginny followed Harry. Weasleys were like that, very loyal. Hermione stared up at the sign, worrying her lip. With a brief glance at Harry, she sighed and went through the door with Ron close on her heels.

                 As usual, the Leaky Cauldron was humming with laughter, conversation, and clinking glassware. Draco's blond hair and Maire's bright pink robes were easy enough to spot in the crowd. Despite her muggle status, Maire insisted on dressing "normal" so she would fit in. Her choices just happened to be...colorful. Maire spotted Harry weaving through the tables and waved him over energetically. Draco had a small smile on his face, but only sipped at his tea. Everyone in Harry's group was greeted with a vigorous hug and a shriek.

                 “Harry, dearie! So good to see you! And this darling lass must be Ginny!” Harry snickered a bit at Ginny's expression as she was accosted by the very friendly Mrs. Malfoy, but made his own escape by sliding into a seat near Draco. They shook hands. “And you must be her brother, Ron! You look just like Harry described you.” She squeezed him tightly. Luckily the Weasleys were accustomed to enthusiastic hugging.

                 “Pleasure,” he said smoothly.

                 With a little bit of a gasp she finally turned to Hermione. “And you must be clever Hermione!” Hermione accepted her hug graciously. “The boys have told me all about ya. Smart as they come, they say. And muggle born? I've got a right load of questions to ask ya.”

                 Ron waved down a waitress as they settled into their seats and Maire asked Hermione question after question, oblivious to the tension at the table. Ron and Draco were staring awkwardly at the table and Harry was looking worriedly between them. One wrong word and the whole place could go up in flames. Both had equally terrible tempers and terrible aim.

                 “You look well Weas...Ron.”

                 “You too...Wife seems nice. Pretty.”

                 “Thanks...” Harry paled at the awkward drop off. Noticing his expression, Ginny snapped.

                 “Ooookay, now that the horribly awkward acknowledgment of everyone's existence is done...darling, go get us a few pints while Malfoy tells me what you've been spending our money on.” Harry chuckled and kissed her cheek. Having money was a strange concept for the youngest Weasley. Even though she’d mostly had her own things, they’d never been _new_ or completely her _own_. More often than not, she’d receive boxes of clothing and toys from distant cousins, and as more cousins were born, her old things were often packed up and shipped off to them. To ease her discomfort at Harry’s incessant and erratic need to indulge her every whim, she used it to make everyone else uncomfortable. Draco, however, slumped with relief at the reprieve and launched into a discussion on a topic he was more than happy to engage in. By the time Harry got back, everyone was listening to Draco's story about a clock not too dissimilar to the Weasley Family's. Apparently, it was on the fritz for a good long while, often indicating that people were in trouble, or even dead, when they had really just popped over to a shop. The worst of it was when it showed that a dead family member was currently on his way home. It was tricky magic, the clock was protected by ancient family spells that prevented everyone from sneaky teenagers to dark wizards from altering it.

                 “Unfortunately, we did have to consider the possibility of the undead…” Draco frowned deeply, possibly reliving that conversation, “Luckily someone in Potter’s office was able to help us out.”

                 “No zombies then,” Ron chortled, laughing into his drink when Hermione swatted at him and hissed that there was no evidence that zombies existed in England. One of Ron’s favorite pastimes was to use muggle culture against her, especially since she was so keen on him learning it. But Draco had a good laugh.

                 “No, no zombies. We were worried it was an Inferi. But no, the clock had just gone mad.” Hermione quickly explained that often old family heirlooms suffered from aging and regular use. Occasionally they were no different than an aging grandfather who suffered memory loss and thought his great granddaughter was his daughter. Draco agreed, telling them that it had needed some cosmetic work, but that he’d sought out a specialist to help the family re-Charm the clock. Maire kept interrupting, making sure the others knew Draco was extremely talented and being far too modest. Ron burst into laughter. Hermione, now bonded with Maire, slapped his chest.

                 “Mione! She said he was being _modest_. Draco. Malfoy. Being modest!” They glared at each other for a moment before Hermione had to cover her mouth to keep from giggling. Even Ginny was shaking a little. Harry was stunned to see that even Draco was laughing silently. “I'm just saying!”

                 Then no one could hold their laughter in. Certainly not Harry. It was a ridiculous thing to say. Not even Draco could deny it. They were all laughing uproariously, tears spilling out of their eyes, clutching their sides, while Maire looked on completely baffled.

                 “Sorry, Maire, sorry,” Ron said between snorts, “but Malfoy was a brainless git when we were kids.”

                 “You should talk about brainless, Ronnikins,” Ginny shot back.

                 “Regardless, we weren't exactly fond of your husband,” Hermione told her kindly.

                 “With good reason,” Draco added. “I was prone to repeating everything my father said, whether I believed it or not.” Maire's mouth went into a tight line. She and Harry had had a heart to heart about Lucius Malfoy. Now, like everyone else, she hated the rotten bastard. And blamed every foul thing Draco had ever done on the appropriate sources: his father and Draco’s idiotic need to appease his father. The Malfoys had ruined their son, just as the Dursleys had ruined theirs.

                 “It's not like we ever let up on you though...” Hermione said slowly. Draco's eyes shot up to hers, confused. She shrugged. “I did hit you once.”

                 Ron snorted, throwing an arm over her shoulders, “Brilliant, that was.”

                 Draco dragged a hand over the phantom bruise she'd left. “Deserved it, though, didn't I? Had it coming after everything I said.”

                 “Yes,” Hermione said without hesitation, “but I figure you've paid for that in spades.”

                 “War...” he said “...has a way of changing people. How pure your blood doesn't amount to much when the world's burning around you and there's nothing you can do to stop it.” Draco glanced up at the Weasleys now, “And money means less than nothing. Didn't stop my parents from going to Azkaban. Wouldn't have stopped them from being executed.”

                 Ginny nodded, satisfied with that response. But Ginny had only a handful of run-ins with Draco, usually at Harry's expense. And Hermione was such a kind hearted, forgiving soul. Ron was different. Draco had treated Ron like a bug under his shoe; berated him and wounded his sensitive pride, hurting his friends whenever possible. Ron was loyal. He was devoted to both family and friends; attacks on Hermione had never been well received and keeping Harry from killing the idiot had become ritualized. If ever there were two men more like Snape and Sirius, it was Draco and Ron.

                 Harry had come to the conclusion that it was no coincidence that Draco married a muggle woman. And that she had red hair. It was something he'd pondered over for a long time. Because the similarities between Maire and Hermione were uncanny. And maybe the parallels weren't clear, but this was the basic fact: they were not their predecessors. Harry wasn't James. And Ginny wasn't Lily. Ron wasn't Sirius. And Hermione wasn't Remus. Draco wasn't Snape. They were not their predecessors. They were their own people who'd lived their own, warped lives.

                 And it wasn't the first time that Harry thought Draco had been such an awful prat to Ron because he was jealous; siblings, Hermione, Harry, a family name that was respected in larger circles and spoken of warmly. A hand knitted sweater sent every Christmas from a mother who freely showed affection. Bonding time with a father who loved his children equally, and those outings never ended in lectures about conduct and reputation. Ron truly believed that because Draco seemed to have everything that he couldn't possibly be envious of a boy like Ron Weasley, the nobody son of a nobody-ministry bureaucrat. In fact, Harry had voiced this thought to Draco once. But he'd only blushed and stammered out that it was ridiculous. Nonsense. Impossible. But it was true. Ron had a loving family. Was well-liked. Had the girl. Had the famous but loyal best friend. He'd had the world compared to Draco.

                 “Draco,” Maire said, “have you got anything to say to Ronald?” Harry snorted. Apparently he wasn't the only one who had suspicions.

                 “No.”

                 “ _Draco._ ”

                 “Do we have to do this right now? Haven't we talked about enough feelings rubbish for one afternoon?”

                 “Draco Malfoy,” she said coolly, “if you don't say what we talked about, you know what will happen.”

                 Ron's eyes lit up. “What? What's gonna happen?”

                 “Ronald!”

                 This sparked an argument between the Weasleys and between the Malfoys. Each of them speaking in the coded couples language. The Potters sat to the side quietly, taking it all in and sipping butterbeer. Harry had an arm around Ginny's shoulders and she kept a hand on his thigh, rubbing her thumb over the fabric there. What Harry knew was that after this, these two couples would go pick up their one and a half year old children from very different daycares and go home and have these same arguments again.

                 Hermione had announced her pregnancy the day after his and Ginny’s first anniversary.

                 Maire’s first pregnancy hadn’t gone to term, but the next year within weeks of Weasleys’ announcement, Maire discovered she was pregnant.

                 Ginny’s pregnancy, discovered in the weeks after their honeymoon, brought them James two months before the Weasleys and Malfoys made their announcements. So James would be at Hogwarts for a year before little Rose and Scorpius. However, as was wont to happen, Ginny was careless with her contraception. She discovered her second pregnancy two weeks before she was cleared to fly. Subsequently, Albus was born three months after Rose. Right now both boys were under the scrupulous care of their grandmother.

                 The important point, though, was that Rose Weasley, Albus Potter, and Scorpius Malfoy would attend Hogwarts the same year. And what they had yet to tell their rowdy group was that another Potter wouldn't be too far behind the new trio. And they had also heard from Luna the day before that she too was expecting her and Rolf’s first. Hogwarts would be a busy place, full of the next generation of Dumbledore’s Army. And then some. Ginny's head fell to Harry's shoulder as the bickering dwindled.

                 “Ugh good lord woman, fine!”

                 “Of course, you're right, dear, I know, I'm sorry.”

                 White Blond and Redhead turned to each other at the same time and chorused out: “Sorry!”

                 “See was that so hard?”               

                 “I mean, really Ronald...”

The men clinked glasses and conversation settled again.

                 “So, Maire, Harry says you and Draco have a son?” Maire squealed and pulled out her cell phone to show Hermione (who was used to camera phones) pictures. Draco rolled his eyes and noticed Ron giving him the stink eye again.

                 “What?”

                 “You got a kid?”

                 “A son. He's a year and half.”

                 “He's not!”

                 “I should know how old my own son is!”

                 “Harry!”

                 “I know, Ron.”

                 “You never said...”

                 “I know, Ron.”

                 Draco looked between them confused before Harry sighed and explained. “Ron and Hermione have a daughter? Who is also one and a half? Like Albus?”

                 Realization dawned on Draco's face. “I don't care what new era we're in, no son of mine is going to run around with Ron Weasley's daughter. No offense, Ginny, my bias is exclusively against him.” Ginny just waved him off.

                 “Oi! Watch yer mouth about my sprog! ( _Ronald! How many times..?)_ I'll bet my Rosie's ten times as clever as your little hell spawn!”

                 “How dare you!?”

                 Their wives paid them no mind, not taking their spat seriously as there was no conclusive way to compare the development of infants. Instead, they were intent on showing each other pictures, swapping stories, and wanting to talk to Ginny about setting up play dates. Ginny leaned over to them, putting a careful hand to her belly.

                 Sitting back, Harry watched them all and finally felt a sense of rightness. He had a feeling that this was how it should have been all along. He ached a little to be back at the Burrow with all of their friends and family, Dean & Seamus, Neville, Luna, the plethora of Weasleys and their respective spawn. Teddy and Andromeda, Hagrid, and James and Albus and Rose. But for one small moment, the world had been righted. Something had been restored.

                 “All right there, Potter?” Draco asked quietly once Ron began investigating Maire's cell phone. Their eyes met and Draco seemed to understand.

                 “Yeah, I...I can't feel him anymore.”

                 Draco clapped him on the shoulder. “Then all is well.”

                 Harry smiled, “All's well.”

 

 


	5. April Birthdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Big Birthday Party at the Weasley's.

                  There were an excessive amount of birthdays in the month of April. George, Luna, Audrey, Teddy, Fred II, Louis, James, Rose, Scorpius, Molly II and the Scamander twins all shared April birthdays within the first few weeks of the month. George hardly, if ever, acknowledged his own birthday, but was effusive about Fred’s. Luna typically withdrew herself from others for some odd tradition she’d established with her mother (it was an honored secret), but the twins were very sociable and liked a party. Audrey thought excessive birthday celebrations were gauche, but Mrs. Weasley insisted on doting on the child who bore her name. Bill outright demanded that some fuss be made over his only son. Teddy was accustomed to sharing the attention with James, and ultimately Rose. The only problem for the Malfoys, which was still a relatively new problem for Draco, was that the Malfoy’s flat over their shop was too small to host anything resembling a party of such size.

                 So it went like this: George, Luna, and Audrey were celebrated the evening before the one Saturday which held no birthdays. And the next morning, almost all of the youth of the wizarding world was invited over to the Burrow to celebrate the birthdays of the Potter, Weasley, Scamander, and Malfoy children. Teddy was the eldest by far and was usually content to spend the day with Victoire and a couple of his school friends. But it was Teddy’s seventeenth birthday, and in the fall he would start his last year at Hogwarts, no less. Harry wasn’t alone in his adamant insistence that there be an excessive fuss made over this fact. Harry’s strongest ally in this matter was actually Draco.

                 “No cousin of mine is ignoring his coming of age…” he’d grumbled when Teddy voiced his reluctance. Teddy had withered under Draco’s glowering. There were only two people in the world that Teddy was truly afraid of: Fleur Weasley and Draco Malfoy. Fleur because…well, she was Fleur. He was intimidated by Draco because he was a blood relative with actual _opinions_. Harry and Andromeda were grossly lenient because they were so enamored of their “first born.” Draco, however, had been raised a pureblood Malfoy and was expected to behave like one. While he didn’t prescribe to a good many of his father’s rules and philosophies any longer, certain wizarding traditions and standards were always on his mind when it came to the children, especially when it came to Teddy. It was an ironic turn of events that flummoxed even Ron.

                 Once the Malfoys had fully acclimated into Harry’s circle, they started coming around the Burrow. Draco reconnected with Andromeda, and through her got to know Teddy. While he didn’t know anything about Lupin’s kin, he knew a hell of a lot about the Blacks, even more than Andromeda did, actually. Dromeda was never enamored with the Family History, but Narcissa had taught it to Draco to the letter, spanning centuries. Draco tutored Teddy in everything family-related, enumerated what had been in their vaults and specifically what should have been his someday, and revealed to him various family-held secrets and traditions. Although displeased that Teddy had been sorted into Hufflepuff, Draco nonetheless was supportive and encouraged him to look into his father’s history to see if there had been others like him. There had not, but Lyall Lupin’s own colored past was enough to convince Draco, ever the purist, that the bloodline could only ever produce a Hufflepuff. His older cousin was very gratified to learn, however, that Teddy’s patronus (Harry had the honor of teaching him to cast a patronus the same way Remus had taught him) was a snake, instead of some other inane animal.

                 “See?” Maire had injected cheerily, “All sorts of interesting things happen when you lot marry my kind!” It made Teddy laugh uproariously and turn his hair a flash of bright yellow, but Draco could only sheepishly admit that having Metamorphagi in the family _was_ interesting. Subsequently, Teddy let his nose grow into an elephant’s trunk, making his cousin ruefully shake his head.

                 So when both Harry _and_ Draco were in agreement about what Teddy should do, he was ultimately going to do it. Draco’s arched eyebrow was enough to make Teddy stand straighter, and Harry was smug that he’d finally won an argument about something with any of his relatives.

                 “See?” he told Ginny, “I can be right, too.” Ginny had been very dismissive of that comment.

                 Twelve birthdays in April, and the party on the only weekend there was no actual birthday. Even for Molly Weasley Sr., this was a challenge. Anyone with passable baking or cooking skills was conscripted to the Weasley kitchen, or to Kreacher’s at 12 Grimmauld Place.  

                 Hermione, Luna, Draco, and George with Ron’s advice worked up a party tent not dissimilar to the one they’d used for all of the Weasley weddings. However, there were several major differences, for one, they charmed the roof so that it appeared to be open air, but it was also enlarged significantly. They magicked in a small kitchen, a large dining area, and a dozen other party necessities so that everyone could remain “indoors” without being squished together. George and Ron worked on entertainment, namely joke banners, trick furniture that would tickle the occupant or belch or a number of other things, candy fountains, exploding snap and wizard’s chess tables, and even a fireworks display that would show on the ceiling from within the tent. Draco’s biggest contribution was the gathering of family and friend’s portraits to hang so they could partake. Ron found performers, acrobats, and musicians to entertain everyone. Luna, under Hermione’s watchful eye, was bringing along several animals and creatures to show the children. The guest list had grown so long that even Mrs. Weasley wasn’t sure of every name on it. The weeks leading up to the big day were busy, boisterous, and frenzied to the point that even stick-in-the-mud Audrey was getting excited for the festivities.

                 If anyone was concerned about the children’s reluctance to share their special day with the rest of their cousins and extended family, they were immediately laughed off. The Weasley clan knew a thing or two about big families, Teddy didn’t see the point of going to eleven other birthday parties with the same people in the same month, Scorpius thought it was the best day of the year, and the Scamandar boys would rather commune with Potters, Weasleys, and Malfoys than participate in whatever oddity their mother could come up with for them to do. Not to mention, Harry insisted that every child get their own cake of their choosing and as many presents as could be procured.

                 Everyone knew that Harry Potter had a _thing_ about birthdays. Hermione, Luna, and Draco, being only children, had been excessively spoiled and doted upon their whole lives. And even if it wasn’t much, the Weasleys liked making a fuss for birthdays, ensuring that that single day set one of their children apart from the others even if it was only temporarily. But Harry? Harry had spent almost all of his birthdays alone. He got his first cake at 11, from Hagrid. He’d gotten a load of cakes that one summer from everyone, which had lasted him a good long time. And he hadn’t even had a birthday party until he was sixteen. Not that it was a _great_ birthday considering that dozens of people had gone missing and everyone was terrified. His seventeenth was okay, but Scrimgeour’s meddling, Hedwig’s and Mad-Eye’s deaths along with the stress of Bill and Fleur’s wedding had soured it somewhat. So even though Harry never allowed anyone to throw him another birthday party (Mrs. Weasley sneakily conferred with Ginny and Hermione to get everyone in one place on the day at a specific time anyway), he made an exceptional fuss about everyone else’s. He would visit everyone on their birthday, even George, bringing along treacle tart (his favorite) to share with them. Didn’t matter what was going on, if it was your birthday, Harry would hunt you down for your mini-celebration. James and his cousins were mortified when Harry showed up on the school grounds, shuffling them over to Hagrid’s for treacle tart, tea, and old stories. George tried to hide from him at all costs, but alas, Harry was an Auror, making him very difficult to hide from. Not to mention, Ron usually ratted him out. Draco, for one, was charmed by the whole thing, seeing as birthdays had always been very formal affairs with the Malfoys. They usually just transfigured up a couple of chairs in the shop and chatted. The younger kids liked it best of all because they got one on one time with Uncle Harry. April was the time of the year when Harry Potter spent way too many galleons on treacle tart. So it was of no surprise that the Big Birthday, as it was commonly called, was his absolute favorite day of the year. Christmas and Easter were wonderful too, in their own way, but Harry liked to spoil and single people out individually for no other reason than they were alive. His whims, as such, were indulged by those who knew him best.

                 Consequently, every year, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was inundated with requests to leave school grounds on the day of the event. Were it for any other family, she would have been miffed about such a large portion of the student body leaving for the day. Unfortunately, she was unofficially obligated to approve all requests seeing as she too was on the guest list. In fact, she was on the guest list to a good many Potter-Weasley related events. She was gratified in the fact that she, Hagrid, Neville Longbottom, Horace, Filius, and Poppy Pomfrey would all be in attendance, so that there was some semblance that this was a school outing. It also didn’t hurt that Molly, Hermione, and Fleur were essentially in charge of the whole thing, so the poor headmistress could rest easy knowing that there would be structure to the shenanigans that Harry and George inevitably would plan.

                 Molly kept it like this: each child could invite ten friends. Parents and siblings were also invited along. So including the celebrants and their own parents, this was usually around 300 people. And then there was the rest of the family, the select extended family, and friends of the family, including members of the DA, their children, and colleagues and their children. All in all, it totaled up to more than 600 people for the Big Birthday every year once most of the children were at Hogwarts. It was excessive and outrageous and as the children got older, it was usually mentioned in the _Prophet_. A gathering of war heroes and their children would always garner attention, even decades later. It didn’t help that many of them had gone on to very public and important positions. For Merlin’s sake, Lee Jordan couldn’t go anywhere without some form of fan following and he was in charge of supplying the music, among other things. And he had a whole herd of children to bring along, not to mention their cousins. The only members of the press allowed on the grounds were Ginny and her colleagues, and they were all off duty with their families anyway. So all in all is was a roaring good time, a lot of games and food and music accompanied by a steady thrum of laughter.

                 After seven years of attending, Draco still wasn’t used to any of it. He enjoyed himself, of course, because it was his son’s birthday party as well. Actually, these parties had become a sort of turning point for the Malfoys in general and himself specifically. He was able to interact with a lot of people who had despised him and his parents for their actions during the war. They met Maire and Scorpius, and saw the Potters and Weasleys enthusiastically including him in the celebrations. He’d taken to thinking that Scorpius’ birthday was his redemption day. In more ways than one, at that. It didn’t hurt that a good many people were in need of his services and he was able to do a little business amidst the chaos. Referrals abounded.

                 It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon when groups of people started to pop up just outside the gate. Right about that same time Audrey and Percy were fielding guests flooing in; directing traffic and telling them where they could leave their coats and gifts for their specified celebrant. Children raced out the back door of the kitchen and into the tent to see what “Uncle George” had concocted for them that year. Party favors included toys and candies and all sorts of products from the shop (which George inevitably sent an invoice to Harry for). The adults filed in, setting things down, and greeting friends that they hadn’t seen a while. Angelina and Ginny were supposed to encourage everyone to find seats and eat first to clear out the kitchen for cakes and desserts. Kreacher, commanding several house elves from Hogwarts, darted about the room cleaning up spills and messes. Every year, Hermione negotiated with them to find a suitable reward for their work; typically it was elf wine and a day off. And by 4 o’clock, the party was in full swing, the band was taking requests, plates were filled and re-filled, dozens of couples were dancing. There was storyteller performing for the younger children, to the amusement of their parents. Teddy entertained some of the older lot by taking request for face transformations. It got a little out of hand when he gave himself goblin ears and poor Auntie Muriel fainted. Ginny had talked a few current Quidditch players into showing up, families and all, so there were some lively discussions happening around them, the loudest of which centered around a discussion about the appropriate age to introduce your children to bludgers. Hagrid had his arms full of babies, two resting in the crooks of his arms, three sitting on his lap and pulling at his beard while Fang III licked their dangling feet. There was an artist painting joke portraits, Animagi dancers who incorporated their transformations into the dance, Luna’s mini-petting zoo was a hit since she’d decided to bring along several pygmy puffs, a pool of flying seahorses, a cage of flitterbys, and a niffler which Mrs. Weasley was not happy about. Luna had debated bringing along her three-headed puppy, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione chorused their “no” so loudly that there was no room for argument.

                 But what Draco enjoyed most of all about this guest list and all the party arrangements was that there was no one in attendance that wasn’t wanted. No elite VIPs being swept off to some separate area, no overly formal and polite conversation to cover the arse-licking. There was no dress code, no special tables, no buy in, no assigned seating or dignified and very public thank yous. There was actually very little dignified about it. In fact, George had slipped a ministry official out of Hermione’s department something in his drink and was now growing hair out of his ears and nose at an alarming rate as he spoke to Shacklebolt and a Hogwarts governor. When he discovered George’s treachery, he started shouting abuse and gave chase. Both the Minister of Magic and the Hogwarts governor laughed uproariously as George hurdled a table to hide behind Ludo Bagman. While the much smaller ministry official shook his fist and tried to get by Bagman, George was making very disingenuous excuses and apologies. There was nothing posh, serious, or elitist about a party at the Weasleys and it reminded him of absolutely nothing of his childhood. He preferred it that way.

                 Draco made eye contact and nodded at Potter who was across the way playing some muggle game with Scorp and the others. Harry ruined it by smiling brilliantly and waving like a twat, making Draco scowl. Instead of joining them, he wound his way along the footpath that had been made for people trying to navigate the tent. There was a discombobulated assortment of directions and arrows and rude jokes marked on the floor, so it was actually quite useless, but Luna claimed it was “wonderful.” He strolled along, taking everything in, making note of people he needed to talk to, people he wanted to talk to, people he _should_ talk to.

                 “I swear,” came a voice next to him. Draco turned to see Ron leaning against a column watching his kids, “Mum really overdid it this year.” Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and stood next to him, watching as floating trays zipped in and out of the kitchen at an absurd rate.

                 “Well,” Draco muttered, “We all know how she feels about Teddy.”

                 Ron turned to him with a curious look on his face, “How was your 17th, anyway?” 

                 Clearing his throat, Draco shifted and stretched his neck and uttered one word, “Dumbledore.” Ron didn’t really need clarification on what that meant. He’d remembered how it was, remembered the funeral, and that Draco had been suddenly pulled from school. But Draco continued anyway. “Mum was concerned about my safety so she dragged me home, but even into June they were all celebrating their victory. I wouldn’t say it was pleasant.” He crossed his arms. “How about yours? March, right? So we were at school.”

                 Ron grunted, “Got poisoned by love potion…and then actual poison in Slughorn’s mead. So I spent it in the hospital wing, really.”

                 “And that was right before..?”

                 “Yup.”

                 “Apologies for that one.”

                 “We’ve talked about this, Malfoy.” The two men looked at one another warily. They were encroaching upon what they both viewed as dangerous territory. Blame, guilt, finger pointing, and apologies. It didn’t mean anything after almost twenty years, not when everything had worked out in the end.

                 “Well, I would have preferred to ruin your birthday on purpose instead of by proxy, but what can you do?” They chuckled haltingly because while it was all very ironic, it wasn’t actually all that funny. Not for the first time, Draco wondered what it would have been like if he’d befriended Ron instead of his father’s friend’s sons. Old question, no conclusive answer.

                 “Oh bloody hell,” he heard Ron grumble. Looking up in the direction of his gaze, he saw Cormac McLaggen approaching them with a very determined look on his face.  Draco didn’t know the man very well, except that his wife was very close friends with Ginny. “The sod’s been after me to make a deal with his new company. Absolutely mental if he thinks I’m letting ‘im in now.” Draco smirked as Ron swiveled his head, looking for an out. “MacMillan!” he shouted, gaining the intended’s attention, “You still owe me from that bet we made last week!” MacMillan looked downright offended.

                 “I don’t owe you a blooming sickle, you lying bastard!” Draco just shook his head as Ron started to stomp over there.

                 “Oh yeah, Mione’s looking for you!” Ron said snapping his fingers as he walked backwards, “Some rubbish about your vault?” The ginger shrugged widely and then spun on his heel to keep volleying abuse back at MacMillan who was insistent that Ron had cheated somehow.  At the mention of his vault, Draco twitched a little. Sore subject. And it wasn’t really something he wanted Ron knowing about either. Still, Hermione knew he wanted it kept quiet and if Ron was qualifying it as “rubbish” then his wife had probably addressed all of his questions in her usual overly-articulate eruditeness that would have flustered him into ignoring her. He appreciated it. Regardless, he didn’t know what to expect. As clever and well connected as she was, there were things that not even Hermione could do. Or, in this case, undo. He spotted her across the room talking to a cluster of women; probably lecturing them about child-rearing methods or something equally mundane. But then, some of them were laughing, so maybe not. Before he could talk himself out of it, he made his way over to her. Naturally, he caught her attention just as he arrived.

                 “Draco! _There_ you are. I’ve been looking _all over_ for you.” She looked flustered and keen, and what Ron referred to as “the solicitor look” spread across her features. Without excusing herself, she grabbed up his arm and dragged him to an unoccupied area.

                 “Stop manhandling me, Granger,” he said glibly, “Has Weasley put something in your pumpkin juice?”

                 She scowled prettily, flopping onto a bench. “ _Which_ Weasley? The lot of them are out to get me. Did you know that I charmed a goblet last year to tell me when my drink has been spiked? Now Charlie’s done something to it, and I’ve absolutely no idea what I’ve had.” He pulled his hands from his pockets and took a seat next to her.

                 “My money was on George,” he told her thoughtfully.

                 “ _Percy_ has money on me singing karaoke by five,” she hissed through her teeth. It made him laugh.

                 “I’d help, but there’s no hope for you.” She sighed heavily at that. “Your darling husband said you wanted to talk about my vault?” At that, she sat up straight, her eyes widening as she told him a whole lot of complicated rubbish about how the goblins were tracking his inheritance across multiple vaults. Wizarding laws were old, dense, and exceptionally difficult to keep track of considering the fact that objects were usually charmed, or hexed, to outmaneuver those laws. Draco had brought her one particularly knotty case, and she’d taken the entire Malfoy Estate on as a client pro bono, refusing to hear any arguments about it.

                 “Surprisingly, in spite of all that, I was able to get most of the items you requested. I brought along Licorus’ watch today, of course, but I can bring you the rest as soon as you’d like them.”

                 “Most?” he asked quietly. There hadn’t been very much on the list. Granted, it had been a hefty request, and not one he made lightly. The only reason he’d even asked was because they were in need of a watch for Teddy. The Lupins didn’t have any in their vaults, and even though Harry could have dug one out of the Potters’, they decided it would be better for Teddy if it were a family heirloom. A Black’s pocket watch. Licorus Black’s pocket watch to be exact. It had been passed along various family members, finally to be dumped into the vault when it no longer worked (or, as was probably the case, was out of fashion). The ministry had acquired it when emptying someone’s vault, and since it had come up on the list, Draco had asked Hermione if she could get ahold of it. Draco would offer to clean it up and repair it, but most likely it was too far gone. There were plenty of Blacks still around who would probably want it, but Teddy, now of age, was officially the heir apparent. Even if it didn’t work, it was a historic piece of Teddy’s heritage, he had the rightful claim and he deserved to have it. The other items didn’t hold nearly as much importance to the other family members; among them were his mother’s ring, a locket that Narcissa was supposed to have given her daughter-in-law, a portrait of Draco’s favorite uncle (great-distant-something or other) on his father’s side, records and documents that would probably serve to incriminate many of his ancestors for crimes against muggles, muggleborns, and sympathizers. Scorpius needed to know the truth of their history, not some diluted version Draco would prefer him to know.

                But Hermione had said _most_. And when he questioned her, she deflated, her eyes looked pained. The clever witch, for all her cleverness, had never been able to hide her feelings.

                 “There was only the…one thing that I couldn’t get.” His mouth opened to guess, but he sighed and closed it. It had been a long shot anyway. “I’m _so_ sorry, Draco,” she appealed, putting her hands on his. “But you didn’t give me much to go on, and they’d passed it around so much. I suspect—”

                 “It’s fine, Hermione,” he breathed out, leaning his back against the table.

                 “No, it’s not!” she snapped. If they’d been in the first year of school, she would have stamped her foot and tossed her hair in a huff. He’d seen her do an adult version of it, and it never failed to make Ron dread what came next. “They have no right to it! There is no solid, _legal_ argument as to why they should have it, no documentation of dark or improper magic, and there is certainly no research to be gained from it. Some horrid little bureaucrat is hoarding it out of spite!” During her rant, she’d gotten to her feet and started pacing, explaining the mucked up path it had taken through the departments, and now it was buried somewhere that Hermione had no access to. Draco watched her with a bemused look on his face as she walked back and forth in front of him, enumerating all the idiotic excuses she’d been given for not being granted access to even the slightest information as to its whereabouts. Finally, out of breath, Hermione growled and sank back onto the bench.

                 “I suppose it’s terribly old with an incredible amount of personal and monetary value?”

                 “Father to son spanning ten generations. Magic as old as it comes.”

                 “ _Damn_ ,” she hissed, slumping against the table next to him. _This_ was the Hermione he’d become friends with. The Hermione who knew too much about everything, who demanded perfection from imperfect systems because they were supposed to serve the needs of _people_ , and who could put two and two together before he had to explain everything. Potter and Weasley were usually too dim-witted to understand what he didn’t want to say. He’d tried not to make a fuss when he asked, tried not to make it seem too important, but apparently she’d seen right through him. “I’ll keep trying,” she told him firmly. “We’ll get it back.”

                 Eventually Hermione was summoned away for one child-related incident or another. Draco could have offered to help her, gone with her to rejoin the crowd, but he felt he’d just been punched in the gut. It shouldn’t have even mattered all that much. Lucius Malfoy had been right bastard from start to finish, beginning to end. He’d impressed upon his son all of his worst qualities, hanging the threat of utter rejection over his head should he disagree. Case and point, he’d once questioned his father’s opinions on muggleborns because Hermione was exceptionally clever and talented in several subjects that Draco, a pureblood, struggled with. Lucius’ response had been along the lines of saying that, in such a case, _Draco_ was failing his family by allowing the _mudblood_ to surpass him. He went on to remind his son of the other _failures_ in the family, both Malfoy and Black, who had been disinherited. There was a possibility that this had been meant as a motivational speech instead of a threat, but since Hermione had surpassed them all in Charms by far, it was more threat than motivation.

                 Would that always be his explanation for everything? His father? He’d spent so much time wanting to please him, to earn his love and respect, but all of it flushed away when the Dark Lord returned. All of it. Nothing Draco could do was enough, nothing he _said_ was enough. The only way to prove his loyalty, to prove his _love,_ was to kill. To torture and maim. But the only way to accomplish those things was to not feel anything at all, to empty himself of that love. That numbness bred contempt and hate. In the last days of the war, he’d _hated_ his father. Hated his aunt. Hated _him_. He’d taken abortive steps, unsure of himself, unable to renegotiate the entirety of his identity after seventeen years of blind vassalage. All he’d been left with was trying not to die, trying to save himself. His only real thought was to get to Harry. Because Harry would have…if it had come to a duel between him and Harry, then…None of it mattered in the end. Harry had chosen to save his life. And suddenly, Draco had no loyalties. Not to his parents, who’d sent him to the slaughter to save themselves. Not to Voldemort. Not to Harry. Not to himself. So yes, he’d tried to fool the Death Eater into letting him pass. He’d wanted to run. To run as far as he could from the fear and the shame and the failure as he possibly could. He’d run right into Weasley’s fist. Served him right, too. But that fist in his face had served to knock loose what little bit of sense and feeling remained after everything. From then on, he did what he had to do and made peace with it. But every now and then, he thought back to that moment when they’d caught up with Harry in that bloody awful room. He thought about how desperate he’d been. How terrified he’d been when Crabbe had decided to kill them.

                 Didn’t matter. It didn’t matter what he’d been thinking or hoping because the rest of the world would never forget that legacy. Not in hundred years would they forget which side the Malfoys had chosen. Hermione’s uncharacteristic failure was proof positive of that fact. It certainly couldn’t have been her lack of knowledge or effort. This was spite and vindication, yet another form of ruin and humiliation. Draco had a brief treacherous thought, wondering what Lucius Malfoy would have thought of his only son asking a _mudblood_ for her expertise in wizarding laws. It was laughable, except that Draco wasn’t laughing.

                 For once when Draco was separate from the group, it was Ginny Potter that found him and not Maire or Harry. Which was odd. For all that Draco got on with the mob of redheads those days, Ginny still hadn't particularly warmed to him. His inclusion started with, surprise of all surprises, Hermione. Her friendship with Maire brought her around to their flat on more than one occasion. At first, they spent a lot of time arguing about the information Hermione was giving Maire about the wizarding world. Hermione was absurdly well-informed, but Draco was a well-educated traditional pureblood who’d been surrounded by well-educated traditional purebloods for the whole of his life. After a while, that was sorted, and their discussions veered away from cultural topics into magic theory, especially charms and transfiguration, which Hermione loved and Draco was exceptionally good at, and then to arithmancy and potions which Hermione was eager to discuss with someone who understood them on her level. On those days, when Ron was in attendance, Maire was treated to enthusiastic instruction of all things quidditch.

                 And because the wife had thawed, so had the husband. Draco had inherited the infamous Malfoy business acumen, and Ron was exceptionally determined to pull off whatever inane idea George could come up with. But the older Weasley was useless when it came to finding a market for his gadgets. So naturally, Ron would run to Draco to sort out good target markets and applications. Eventually, George began using Draco’s repair shop as a resource, begging its owner to look at products he'd designed in order to get it to work properly.  One by one the Weasleys changed their mind about Draco Malfoy, and it helped greatly that Mrs. Weasley made fattening him up her new mission. All of their kids thought he was funny with all of his funny objects and trinkets in his funny store. Not to mention, they all adored Scorp, which was enough reason to tolerate any of them. But Ginny had never really gotten on board. He didn't know what it was exactly, but they'd reached a silent understanding that it would never be noticed or discussed. Still, she was perfectly polite to him.

                 And that was precisely the problem. Ginny Potter nee Weasley was not, by any means, polite. She was keen and observant and clever and could verbally tear a stranger to shreds without blinking first. Not malicious, to his mind, but fierce and sharp. She knew just where it would hurt most. Ginny said what she was thinking to just about everyone and it wasn't always kind, appropriate, or pleasant. So the fact that she was exactly those three things to Draco told him that she was restraining herself. And on purpose. Considering that during the first year of their truce she was pregnant and mother to two boys already, she was damned determined. Mission-oriented, is what Potter always said. Made her a damn good chaser. Made her a damn good reporter, too. And she was damn good at avoiding being alone with him.

                 Until now.

                 “Malfoy,” she greeted him as she approached the corner table he was sitting at. He’d taken the spot so he could keep an eye on Scorpius who was around a bunch of redheaded children, and on Maire who was dancing with their redheaded parents. He was relaxed enough, arms along the table top, feet crossed at the ankles. Ginny’s arms were crossed against her chest. She was frowning. Bully for him.

                 “Potter,” he snipped back.

                 “You're brooding.”

                 “Are not.”

                 “Are too. Budge up,” she said plopping down onto the bench next to him. He imagined that if he kept arguing with her about it, he’d lose. He was an only child after all. “You forget I'm married to The Boy Who Broods. I can sense it a mile off now.”

                 “He's really never living that title down, is he?

                 “Not in million years. So what gives? Why so mopey?”

                 “You are suddenly interested in my moods?” She shrugged. It was a practiced gesture, something she’d planned, which he didn’t take as a good sign.

                 “My pre-first born is celebrating his coming of age today. My first born is turning eleven and will start school in the fall. Humor me.”

                 He sighed. Bloody Weasleys and their feelings. Even after a decade of exposure, he hadn’t quite grasped the concept of these heart- to-hearts they wrangled him into. Potter hadn’t either, and had laughed at him for complaining about it. “It’s the Weasley way,” he’d said with a little twinkle in his eye. It was hard to remember sometimes that Harry was actually an orphan and not a born and raised Weasley, the way he acted around them. Draco still didn’t understand it, but then again, he didn’t understand a lot of things about the ever-expanding brood.

                 “This is just...” he cleared his throat out of discomfort, “not where I thought I'd be.”

                 “As in?” 

                 Damn nosey, of all the sodding… He mentally decided it was for the best just to be blunt with her. Maybe it would be enough to put her off, or at the very least to change the topic to something more manageable. He should have known better, she was a sodding journalist.

                 “For a long time I thought I'd be dead, or worse.”

                 She hummed thoughtfully in response to that. When he’d told Maire that same thing, she’d been horrified and upset with him for thinking that way. Not Ginny Potter, though, she acted like it was an absolutely common phenomenon. Far too many of them had made their peace with attitudes they’d adopted during the war. In the end, there had only ever been one man who thought he’d survive.  

                 “Him, too,” she said softly, nodding in Harry’s direction. “Used to be that he would have preferred it.”

                 Well. That was…not what he’d expected. After Maire’s miscarriage, she’d encouraged him to go to a muggle therapy group. “Trauma” she’d said. Apparently she believed that he had a lot of grief and loss to work through, and not all of it was limited to their unborn child. She wanted him to talk freely to someone, anyone, really. At first, he only went to appease her, to say he went, but had no intention of taking it on regularly. But while there, he’d met several muggle men who’d been overseas, who’d lost children, who’d lost parents or wives or siblings. Even after being around them, seeing how they behaved and talked to one another, Draco never would have guessed Harry Potter felt the same.

                 “Never told me that,” he bit out perhaps a little too gruffly.

                 She shook her head, “Didn't tell anyone but me, but the first couple of years weren't easy on him.”

                 “I'm sure you helped,” he told her with tired exasperation. What the hell was she getting at?

                 “I absolutely did not.” He must have looked startled because when she turned her head to look at him, she snorted.  “When it was over and there were no more funerals or press conferences, no more Death Eaters to chase him, or people to save, it was just Harry and what he'd lost. And he lost a lot. He carries it with him, and most days he's fine.”

                 “Most?”

                 “Most. Most days he's young, cheeky Harry who goofs off with my brothers and teases Hermione and me. He's a good father and husband. He's a damn good Auror. Most days nobody sees it. Nobody sees how utterly ripped to shreds he was. And let me tell you, household charms are not his strong suit. That's a hand stitched man, we've got.” That, however unsophisticated and downhome, made sense to him. Wasn’t that what he’d done when he’d changed his name and married Maire? When they changed their names again and moved back to England? Wasn’t it what he did almost every day in his shop, fixing and repairing instead of scrapping and replacing? Regardless, he still didn’t understand why she felt it necessary to tell him any of it. One of the few things he’d discovered about Potter was just how much he _loathed_ when people talked about him. And here Draco had thought he’d loved it. But she was right, Teddy’s coming of age, James turning eleven and all, so he humored her.

                 “What about the other days?”

                 She pursed her lips. “He's hateful and angry and sad. It's quieter than it used to be, but that bitterness is still woven so tightly into him. So many whys, and no one to answer them. The worst one he asks is: why him?  Granted, hindsight being what it is, he'd never let anyone else take that burden. But…”

                 “Why him?” Draco finished. He’d thought a lot about that too, from Harry’s perspective and his own. That is, he thought about it until his muggle counselor told him it was counter-productive to progress and growth. If he ever wanted to change and move on, he’d just have to accept what was and what had been instead of questioning its purpose. Because maybe there was no purpose and it would be enough to drive anyone mad.

                 “Yeah. He was so alone and hurting and scared and it just made him kind.”

                 “But you didn't help him through it?”

                 “You can't make someone want to live. They have to find it within themselves. That's what I was taught at Hogwarts while he was gone. He needed a reason and I couldn't be it. A piece maybe, but not the whole.”

                 “I don't understand.” And he really didn’t. Maire was the reason he’d stuck around, the reason he did most things. Their son had only reinforced that motivation.

                 “Well I'm a person you git! I'm fucked up all on my own, and I didn't need a co-dependent man-child sucking the life out of me when the future was finally opening up. I wanted to _live_. And Harry? Harry still believed he belonged with the dead. With his parents and godfather and all of the people he'd loved and lost.”

                 “Moron.”

                 She smirked. Which could only mean agreement. He and Harry were not parallel cases. Harry had done everything right for all of the wrong reasons and Draco had done everything wrong for all of the right ones. So who was the better person, really? Harry, hands down. His only options had ever been to fight or die. Draco had been given plenty of options, plenty of opportunities to take a different path, to be more like his cousin Regulus or even Andromeda. And by the time he wanted to, by the time he’d worked up enough nerve, it was far too late. Eventually, Harry had confessed to him what happened in the Forbidden Forest. Not many people knew. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and maybe a couple of others. His story made no sense, but it also made perfect sense. How could someone as brilliant as the Dark Lord be outwitted by himself? That took a true kind of ignorance that Draco didn’t care to dwell on. And if Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, hadn’t entirely understood the game he was playing with the darker side of magic, then there was little hope for anyone else meddling with it. That had been quite the eye-opener. Just another man with a fatal flaw. Go figure.

                 Ginny continued quietly, “I have a theory that when he died in that forest, Death clung to him. He told you about the Peverell brothers?” Draco nodded. Another fantastical element to the story he didn’t want to think about. All of that power, and Voldemort went for the obvious choice. All of that power, all of that _inheritance_ , and Harry had shed it from himself like wasted skin. Could he have done the same? Could anyone? “He should have died so many times and I think it was jealous he'd gotten away.”

                 “Sounds like one of Luna's stories.”

                 “Mmmm. I think he missed it. The nothing of it. Some days I think he still does.”

                 “You think he _misses_ being dead? You're off your nut, Potter.” But he said it halfheartedly. He said it with no real feeling. Draco could tell she knew it, too.

                 “Maybe. Maybe not. I'm sure that's what Ron and Hermione would say. But they don't really understand the whole of it, do they? Having Tom Riddle so completely in your head. I heard my brother got a taste of it, but the worst thing he did was run off and then instantly regretted it. He was in my mind for a year...”

                 “Sorry,” he muttered. She hummed again. Maybe that was why she'd never tried for friendliness with him. His father putting that damn book in her way. Letting her be violated like that.

                 “But you understand. More than most. That there's a difference between wanting to die in the moment and spending all of your time afterward wishing you had.”

                 Part of his father’s punishment from the Dark Lord had been to watch Draco suffer and wither. He’d warped Draco’s mind into believing that he’d escaped, only to discover he was locked in a coffin. He’d glamoured prisoners into looking like a mirror image of Draco, and made the original torture the copy. And when it failed, because dark magic required more than an incantation, Voldemort rounded on his mother.  He’d seen the bodies of prisoners being tossed into mass graves and burned, listened to Fenrir and his cohorts whistle and laugh as they did it, and there was no way to know which of those people, if any, Draco had tortured or killed. He knew what it was to long for death.

                 “I do.”

                 “That's why I don't like him going to you.”

                 “What?” Now he was confused. “I would think that you'd want him to talk to someone who understands.”

                 “Yes. And I do. But I also understand. I missed having Riddle in my head and I _hated_ myself for it. But I survived. And maybe it's petty, but I’d prefer it if he didn't spend time with someone who also can't forgive himself that weakness.” Her tone was unrepentant and bitter. But she was right, and he damn well knew it. That’s why the group counselor insisted that none of the members meet up outside of group, why Maire told him enough was enough after a few years of it. That’s why he didn’t talk about it.

                 “Ginny it's been ten years and you've never said a word to me about this.”

                 He wanted to believe that years ago he would have understood, that he would have respected her wishes on that regard. He wanted to believe that he would have stayed away for Harry’s sake. Back then, it wasn’t as if he believed anything could come of a friendship with his school nemesis. He thought Harry just felt responsible, that he wanted to fix everyone and everything associated with Tom Riddle, with the war. He’d erased all traces of the man and the myth, right down the last letter of the first laws and regulations that the Dark Lord had been so fond of. Everything had been purged, his childhood home, his parents’ graves, the orphanage, his followers and their graves. There was no tombstone for Tom Marvolo Riddle, his corpse had been transfigured into wood, chopped, and thrown into the fire of his burning home. Fitting, most thought.

                 “There are days when my husband believes that he's more dead than alive and when he looks at you he remembers why. He remembers a whole different life he could have led. Without Tom Riddle. Possibly one without me, without our kids. And I resent it. Wouldn't you?”

                 “Well sure I...”

                 “He saved your life,” she stated indifferently, her face growing furious.

                 “To be accurate he saved all our...”

                 “So repay him by not sulking on the one day of the year he's the most alive!” she snapped. Draco paled. Ginny smiled.

                 “He also wanted me to remind you about Teddy's watch.” The switch in her tone of voice was so sudden that Draco thought he’d been slapped. And perhaps he had.  She jumped to her feet and held out a hand to him. “Now, come and dance before I hex you.”

                 He leaned back a little to catch her eye, amused by her change of tactics. “Potter, I do believe you are warming up to me.” She scowled.

                 “Not a chance you smarmy pissbaby, dance or be hexed.”

                 He took her hand and she tugged him up, but he tugged back before they could start walking so she would look at him. “Why tell me that now? After all this time?”

                 She scowled again. It was her favorite facial expression after all. “Being a mum makes you introspective. Teddy’s almost done with school, James is starting school, Albie and Scorp start school next year, and _look_ at them.” She flagged a hand in their direction. Teddy was in a deep discussion with Rolf Scamander, stroking the niffler curled up in his arms. James had given a cohort of his a tongue engorging candy, which they were using to disgust the girls around them. Their sons sat with Rose and Lily, who was braiding Rose’s hair. They were playing with exploding candies and watching the trick fire dance in front of them and nip at their noses. Scorpius kept throwing them into the butterbeer fountains to make the flames bigger; Rose was scolding him for being such a child, trying and failing to snatch the candies away. Albus was laughing and laughing. The new trio. Everyone was curious to know how they would eventually be sorted at school. They would be loath to split up, but Albie wanted Gryffindor like his father and cousins, Scorpius wanted Slytherin like his father, and Rose was desperate for Ravenclaw because of Luna’s stories. Ginny slowly turned her gaze away so that Draco would follow it.

                 “And look at him.”

                 They watched Harry, dancing with Maire and Luna in the middle of clapping women. He'd become quite the ham at these get-togethers.  He was distracted however, by Ron trying to coerce Hermione onto the floor. Whatever he was saying must have been mental because Harry was laughing and laughing and Hermione kept shooting him dirty looks. The situation deteriorated when big Viktor Krum came out of nowhere and threw Hermione over his shoulder so Ron could hold her hands and pretend to be dancing properly. Hermione’s shrieking was properly ignored, even as Krum with Hermione over his shoulder, was invited into the circle so that he would be involved in the steps of the dance with Ron as his partner. Hermione must have been hoping that Cho Chang would save her, but the lovely woman only smiled and adjusted Hermione’s skirt as she passed. Harry tossed his head back, roaring with laughter as they all moved along.

                 “He tried to tell me once. Something he'd seen in a dream. A whole different world. And I don't know, maybe it's because Teddy's so grown up or because my baby boy is going to leave soon, but I think I finally understand what he meant. He said it so long ago and I thought he just felt guilty or noble or whatever. But, a different world. Where we all might have been friends.” Harry had told him too. Harry had probably told everyone, which would explain why everyone put in such an effort to change things for him. The tosser had that effect on people.

                 “We have that now,” Draco muttered back.

                 “Yes we do. Harry gave us that. He gave us them.” She nodded her head at the little trio. “Happy, well-loved kids with best friends and no fear of the dark. Look at our kids, Draco, look at all of those kids. Look at what Harry did.”

                 Draco was at a loss for words, seeing her get choked up and mawkish. It was the most sincere emotion he'd seen from her in a decade. But Ginny was right. He'd have never have told Maire about himself if Harry hadn't...and they wouldn't have come back...His son wouldn't have access to all this family and love and acceptance if Harry hadn't...The former Draco Malfoy would have been furious to feel indebted to Harry sodding Potter. Now? Now he was just relieved. He cleared his throat and stood taller.

                 “If my son marries that Weasley girl, I'll never forgive him,” he sneered as portentously as he could. The affectation made Ginny snicker because Merlin knew it had been a good long time since Draco could even muster the idea that he was above anyone else. With the exception of Ron, naturally, because their hostilities toward each other, no matter how good natured, would never really fade.

                 “Uh huh. I heard that little pep talk you gave him.”

                 Well damn, he thought he’d been discreet about that. Scorp would never forgive him if he found out all of the Weasleys knew he was going out of his way to impress Rosie. Not that everyone didn’t notice it anyway, the obvious little bugger. Regardless, his son’s honor was at stake.

                 “Piss off Potter, you're barking.” He crooked out his arm for her to grab hold of and they strode over to the dance floor much too formally for the affair, making the children giggle and the adults chortle. Harry swung past them, clapping and stomping his feet.

                 “What the bloody hell happened with you two?” Harry asked incredulously, a little out of breath. He looked like a damned fool tossing about like he was, completely off beat from the tune. Draco sneered as prettily as he could, and stood stiffly preparing to begin a formal waltz. Ginny played along to egg on the kids who were squealing now.

“Your wife threatened to hex me,” Draco informed him matter-of-factly, which Ginny confirmed with a prim nod. Harry threw his head back laughing, spun off a twirling Luna, and then deftly kissed Ginny's cheek.

                 “About damn time,” he laughed before winking at her. Harry was suddenly pulled into the fray of dancers by large and little hands alike.

                 “Nobody needs your approval, Chosen One!” Ginny shouted over the music, making people turn their heads with a grin. It just wasn’t a party if the Potters weren’t mocking each other for their respective levels of fame. On Ginny’s birthday the year before, Harry had unearthed an old Harpies calendar, made copies, and handed them out as party favors. Ginny’s riposte was to enlarge an old article Rita Skeeter had written about Harry during the Triwizard Tournament and post it in a dozen or so places in the Ministry offices. Hermione had not been happy about the photographic evidence of her unruly hair, but Harry had laughed and laughed. Draco’s only conclusion about their ever-present mission to embarrass the other was that they were off their respective nuts.

                 Harry circled back around again, shouting, “Yes you do!” And then Angelina pulled him back. “You know you love me!” he called over the crowd.

                 “Unfortunately,” she grumbled, “Pillock!” Draco could only chuckle. Maire hardly ever raised her voice, let alone cursed at him. She was too gentle for it, too warm and kind to want to offend anyone. But Ginny just wasn’t herself if she wasn’t insulting someone, her husband included. Making no comment, Draco led her gracefully through the first few turns of a waltz, which she knew pretty well. Of course, she attributed her knowledge to Neville Longbottom because he’d practiced so much before the Yule Ball at school. This led to a little reminiscing about that evening, since the pair of them had actually _enjoyed_ themselves instead of being little ankle-biters about who was whose date. Ginny had a few choice words about Pansy, which Draco whole heartedly agreed with. “If I was awful,” he admitted, “she was worse.”  They swapped some gossip about what they’d heard about her. Two children with a former Slytherin twice her age that was suspected of muggle baiting. They were about to discuss the Greengrass sisters when there was a loud commotion from across the tent. They turned in time to see Teddy leaping over a table to get away from Harry and Ron, who immediately gave chase.

                 This was a common sight at Weasley parties, as the whole family had grown fond of giving the bumps. Usually, they went youngest to oldest for tradition’s sake, but in the past few years, Teddy had grown increasingly exasperated and bolted before they could get to him. Apparently Harry and Ron decided to knock him off his game by going after him first. It was his coming of age party, after all. Everyone watched the chase, ducking and dodging out of the way. The older Weasleys were catcalling and jeering at the poor victim, the others chuckled at Teddy’s shrieks and threats, and the children cheered on his escape. It wasn’t meant to be, however, because just as Teddy was about to dart through the tent flaps, he ran right into Neville, Seamus, and Terry Boot. He valiantly tried to duck beneath their arms but was caught up anyway. Harry and Ron stomped and clapped along to a wordless victory tune as poor Teddy was dragged to the center of the room for the birthday tradition.

                 “I am an _adult_!” Teddy squawked, squirming in their grasp. His hair was bouncing between all shades of colors and his face was bright red from being tickled for his troubles. The men holding him just laughed and pinched his cheeks. Charlie Weasley and Terry Boot, being the biggest of the lot by far, were requisitioned to do the honors. Terry took Teddy’s hands and Charlie had his feet. Lily and Hugo begged their fathers to let them count. They got four bumps in, just four, until, with all of them watching, Teddy transformed into a bat and flew up and out the tent.

                 The Weasley men and DA members booed, calling out for a penalty for _excessive showing off_ and generally being a tosspot. George, by far, was the loudest. The children gasped at the display, not all of them understanding what happened. But mostly everyone clapped and laughed, especially Harry who was doubled over, hands on his knees. He wobbled over to Ginny, beaming and shaking from his giggling. Draco watched Ginny’s eyes narrow.

                 “You dared him to do that, didn’t you?” she accused him self-righteously. Harry laughed harder, holding up a hand to ask for a moment. Ron strolled over, his face pinched up.  Behind them, various family members were grabbing up the younger children for _their_ bumps.

                 “Harry, he doesn’t even _need_ an animagus, he’s a bloody metamorphagus.” He put his hands on his hips. “I didn’t even know he’d registered.”

                 The foursome was interrupted by a prim clearing of a throat which made their bellies bottom out.

                 “He _hasn’t_ , Mister Weasley.”

                 “Professor McGonagall,” Ron said meekly, swallowing a little too hard considering how long he’d been out of school. Ginny and Draco rolled their eyes, but Harry looked unfazed by the whole thing. Over his shoulder, Draco saw Hermione weaving her way through the crowd like an on-coming storm.

                 “Head’s up, Potter,” Draco muttered, nodding in her direction. Harry twisted and grimaced when he caught the look on her face.

                 “Blimey,” he swore under his breath and twisted back to shrug at his former professor. “Oh, did you hear that, I think my mother-in-law is calling for me!” He slid around them and away, darting for the kitchen area.

                 “Chickenshit!” Ron called after him. He had the decency to look ashamed of himself when McGonagall shot him a withering glare. “ _Sorry professor_ ,” he all but whispered out. Ginny punched him for being such a wimp. That’s when Hermione bore down on them.

                 “What on earth did he think he was doing teaching Teddy to transform!” she snarled out. “He wasn’t even of age!”

                 “Or registered!” McGonagall echoed the sentiment, and both women marched after him, demanding to speak with him about it. “You have a lot of explaining to do, Mr. Potter!”

                 This left Draco with the Weasley siblings who were trying very hard not to laugh at his plight. “You lot aren’t going to go save him?” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder in their direction, and chuckled when there was a cacophony of noise from pots, pans, and berating coming from that direction.

                 “Meh,” Ginny snatched a tart from a floating tray that passed by, “Mum’ll protect him. He’s the favorite.”

                 Ron emptied the tray and pushed it in the direction of the kitchen. “From Hermione? Definitely not. I choose my battles wisely, and I told ’im teaching Ted to transform before graduating was no good.”

                 “Oh,” Ginny teased, “I’m sure you were a right solemn pillar of wisdom.” Draco snorted, earning a glare from Ron.

                 “I’ll have you know that my wife informs me that it’s very dangerous to try transforming without proper supervision,” he sniffed.

                 “And you think…?” Draco prompted.

                 “That Lupin’s lot did it their fifth year at school, and Harry’s loads less barmy than they were.”

                 They were again interrupted, though pleasantly this time, by Maire’s arrival. She snaked an arm through Draco’s and looked up at him with no small amount of concern. “Do I even want to know what just happened there?”

                 “Something very _illegal_ ,” he informed her with no gravity at all, which made her smile.

                 “Arry’s in for a wee spot of bother then, eh?”

                 “Only if a _wee spot_ means getting his knob lobbed off by a solicitor and a headmistress.”

                 “Was it so bad? Im’s doing that trick?”

                 Ginny bobbled her head, “Well, not good, for sure.”  Once again they were interrupted, but this time it was Dominique Weasley at Draco’s elbow, looking rather mournful. Ginny, ever the sucker for Bill’s little girls, melted. “What’s wrong _ma petite chou_?” The girl spared a pitiful glance for her aunt and then looked woefully up at Draco, eyes wide, and lips pouty.

                 “Monsieur Malfoy, can you teach me to waltz? Victoire says I look like a plimpy when I dance.” Draco stifled a laugh at the insult. Victoire’s barbs rivaled Ginny’s on occasion, usually reminding him of the girls he’d spent time with during school. But the middle Weasley looked so put out that he didn’t want to push it.  

                 “You don’t look like a plimpy, Domi,” he told her gently, making her smile a little bit. Victoire only said that because Dominique had gone through a chubby stage before getting to Hogwarts, but as a fourth year, she was starting to gain some height and slenderness. “Suivez-moi, s'il vous plaît," he said, holding out his hand for her very formally. She squealed and stuck her tongue out in Victoire’s direction before sobering up and taking his hand. Maire was ecstatic and went to watch them, sitting at the closest table to snap some pictures on her phone. As she had just upgraded it the week before, Maire was soon joined by an eager Arthur Weasley. So that left Ginny and Ron watching their niece learn to waltz.

                 “If you had told me during school that Draco Malfoy would be teaching Bill and Fleur’s second daughter to dance at a Weasley party…”

                 “You’d have gone back to eating without comment,” she deadpanned. “I didn’t know he spoke French.”

                 Ron hummed, “Fluently. Fleur makes him come over once a month to help her teach the kids.”

                 “Will wonders never cease?”

                 They were startled and then annoyed by Harry suddenly popping up between them, having apparated from wherever he’d been cornered. “Blimey, I forgot how fast Mione is. Do you see ‘em anywhere?” he asked, still out of breath.  

                 “You’re just getting old, dear,” Ginny quipped, scanning the crowd. “I think you’re safe.” Harry deflated, tossing his arms over their shoulders to support his weight. “You said Teddy was _in the process of_ transforming,” she said accusingly. “ _Not_ that he could actually do it.”

                 Harry groaned, rolling his head around in a right display of exasperation. “He’s only done it _once_. And it was only the _wings_.”

                 Ron winced sympathetically, raising his glass in silent camaraderie. Several years back, Harry had helped institute a new rule that Aurors needed to be a registered animagus or start the process of becoming one during training. It not only helped them move about the muggle world when necessary, but gave them extra cover during a crisis. When it turned out that Harry’s animagus was a big black dog, no one was much surprised. Ron, luckily to his mind, had already retired to work with George when that rule came into place. No desire to come out the other end with animal bits. And the sickening memory of Scabbers was enough to put him off the idea all together. Teddy didn’t necessarily want to become an Auror, in fact he was going to start an internship with Luna over the summer, but considering his heritage and shared history with Harry, he wanted to learn.

                 “Besides, I only told him that if he wanted to avoid the bumps this year, then he should transform before we got to him.”

                 “George is already calling him _Flittermouse Ted_ ,” Ron informed them unhelpfully.

                 Ginny pinched Harry’s side. “He needs to register!” she growled over his yelp of pain.

                 “All right! All right all right! I’ll have him do it tomorrow! Sheesh.” He huffed thoughtfully. “He was just so excited to do it, and you know I can’t say no to him.”

                 “ _Weak_ ,” Ginny hissed.

                 Harry grinned sheepishly, “Maybe a little.”

                 “He’s supposed to be studying for his NEWTs _, Harry_ ,” came Hermione’s voice from behind them. The trio jumped a little, and Ron faithlessly left Harry’s side to put an arm around his wife. Ginny coughed _traitor_ with no subtlety, earning her a kiss on the cheek from Harry.

                 “Come on, Mione,” he whined, “He’ll do _fine_. And think of how impressed the board will be when he’s a registered animagus by then?” He put on his best charm smile in an attempt to sway her, but only years of practice in Hermione Granger allowed him to see her arguments being set aside in favor of being impressed. She was first and foremost an academic, and she’d always loved a good bit of complex magic. Harry beamed as she crumbled and swept her into a rowdy hug. She shouted abused at him until he unhanded her and set her back on her feet with a loud kiss to her cheek.

                 “I’ll take him to the ministry first thing tomorrow, I swear.” Ron was affronted.

                 “Why is it that all the women in this family let you get away with everything? I’d spend a month on the sofa for that.”

                 Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored him; her attention went to Draco, who was still with Dominique, and was now surrounded by a dozen or so other girls from her year. Hermione straightened her skirt, brushing at invisible lint, “Well, he’s looking much more cheerful than he was earlier,” she said offhandedly.

                 “You noticed that too?” Ginny asked, inordinately pleased with her handiwork in retrospect.

                 “I’m afraid I caused it,” she told them wearily.

                 “What happened?” Harry asked, suddenly serious for the first time all day. It never ceased to amaze (and exasperate, somewhat, no matter how impressive he was) Ginny how he went from lazy sod to determined hero in less than a blink. Hermione briefly explained to them about the Malfoy estate, how complex everything had become considering all of the family members, heirs, and with the war everything had been jumbled up because of all of the relatives involved with Tom Riddle.

                 “Anything deemed valuable was taken by the Ministry, including all of his parents’ possessions when Narcissa died six years ago. And since no one has had access to the Malfoy and Black estates for centuries, most of the items there managed to escape modern wizarding laws…” Ron grunted, probably thinking it for the best all things considered, but conflicted enough to keep his mouth shut on the subject. But he was thinking it loud enough for the rest of them to hear anyway.

                 “What?” he said defensively, “they were a barmy lot from start to finish and there’s no telling what kind of rubbish they got locked away down there.”

                 “Can’t say I disagree, Lucius was a bit of an experimenter. And a collector. He dabbled far too much for anything to be considered safe. What was Draco after?”

                 “A watch for Teddy, mostly. He had a few on hand, but said that they were all owned by Death Eaters and dark wizards, so they weren’t a good fit. A couple of other heirlooms to give to Scorp, records, that kind of thing.”

                 “So why was he upset?”

                 “I couldn’t get his father’s walking stick!  You remember, it had that snake head and quartz inlay?”

                 “Can’t forget it,” Harry grumbled, “he hit me with it once. And Dobby.” Ron grunted again, stuffing a pasty into his mouth instead of talking himself into trouble.

                 “Well it was the only thing he asked for himself! At any rate, I couldn’t get it and he just looked devastated. It’s not as if he was very adamant about getting it back when he talked, and I absolutely tried my best, but they took it off Lucius when he died and it’s not as if they don’t have good reason…He was hoping to give it to Scorp at some point. Said it was traditional to pass it from father to son.”

                 “Did he know if there was any dark magic to it?” Ron asked around his food. Ginny poked him in annoyance.

                 “Not that he knew of. Just a couple of shielding charms, a focusing crystal. But it’s very old and a lot of powerful wizards have used it.” She twisted her lips thoughtfully. “I’ll bet it’s perfectly safe, though.” She didn’t prompting to explain. “No department would hold onto an object that long if they knew for certain it was made with dark magic. They’d catalog and dispose of it, that’s procedure.”

                 “Who’s got it?” Harry asked, swiping a drumstick from a floating tray.

                 “Aurors passed it to the M.E.C. who passed it to Security _ages_ ago. And now it’s sitting in some bureaucrat’s office being tested for Merlin knows what by some thick-headed sod who probably doesn’t have the first clue as to what can do. I understand Kingsley’s desire to keep dark objects off the streets, but he’s made it bloody near impossible for the families to get anything back once it’s been cleared!” Hermione hardly took a breath as she spoke, angry as she was about the whole thing.

                 “I’ll get it back,” Harry said unfazed by her frustration. “I assume you went through all the proper protocols, through the system?” A system that she’d essentially rewritten during her time there.

                 “Harry,” Hermione started to argue, “If I couldn’t…”

                 “Auror.”

                 “Ministry Solicitor!”

                 “Savior,” he said in sing song, making Ginny giggle.

                 Hermione darkened, “I was with you almost the whole time,” she shot back, something that not even Ron could say.

                 “ _Chosen one_ ,” he sang, making her jaw snap up tight. Ron guffawed at the look on her face because there was really only one category that Harry could trounce Hermione in, and that was in getting favors. It infuriated her to no end the way people would bend over backwards, breaking the rules and risking their jobs just to do _Harry Potter_ a favor. And he suffered endless abuse from her for it. She glowered at him as Ron rubbed a soothing hand across her back. “Tomorrow,” he said resolutely, waggling his eyebrows.

                 “I don’t know why he didn’t ask you in the first place!” Hermione bit out, pouting a little. She was not a good loser, a trait she and Ginny shared. So her sister-in-law petted her forearm sympathetically but without much sincerity.

                 Harry shrugged languidly, “The last thing Draco wants from me is another favor. You can give it to him next week and say you got it out for him.” Hermione completely deflated, as she always did because she was absolutely incapable of staying mad at Harry when he was so damn noble all of the time. Another reason to hate the bastard. Hermione relented and they foursome chattered a little about who was where and doing what. All of their children seemed to have vanished until Lily darted up to them, pulling at Ginny’s skirt to inform them that Hugo had decided he wanted to be a bat like Teddy and was now stuck up in a tree. Hermione was gone in a flash, dashing off to find her son. Ron watched her go for a moment and then handed his plateful of pastries to Lily before trudging after his wife. Lily stared down at the treats in her hands, bewildered at the sheer amount of food until her father swiped one and ate it. She stuck her tongue out at him and ran off before he could take another one.  

                 “That one will put Minerva out to pasture,” he informed absolutely no one very somberly, as he put his now-naked drumstick on another floating tray.

                 Ginny ignored that and rounded on him. “Are you sure you’re okay pulling a celebrity act to get this thing? I mean, Hermione can probably do it once she has a name. I haven’t met a damn person in that office who isn’t terrified of her.”

                 He shrugged, “Why not spare the poor soul and get there before she does? Less paperwork.”

                 “But you hate pulling that card with Kingsley.”

                 “So he’ll know it’s important.”

                 “Is it?”

                 “Mmm,” Harry said shoving his hands in his pockets, “Methinks we’ve had this conversation before.” He turned on his heel and started to walk off, not wanting to argue on his favorite day of the year. Ginny sighed heavily and relented. She’d married a madman. He must have been waiting for her to catch up because she caught his arm easily, sliding her own through it.

                 “You’ll have to let me know if they're a Quidditch fan.”

                 “Naturally,”

                 “Because, let’s be honest here, if they're not, you’re probably in trouble.”

                 “Preposterous.”

                 “So, what? You were gonna go in all arse over tit, _I saved the world and the minister of magic says so_ into that beastly little bureaucrat’s tiny office and _demand_   they hand over the thing that has probably become a major project for the,, so much so that it could potentially _get them out of_ that office?”

                 “There’s a slight possibility I hadn’t thought of that.”

                 “Uh-huh.”

                 “Don’t tell Hermione.”

                 “Never.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Side note: There's some discussion of Snape and his shit here. I am of the personal opinion that Harry made a hero out of him because he was a child at the time and because, well, dying for Dumbledore was the only real achievement of his life. He was still a shitty person and his obsession with Lily Potter made me cringe. However, I am of the opinion that Harry made a good decision naming his kid Albus Severus. For one, Teddy is named after Lupin; his middle name is Remus. It's his responsibility to pass that along, and Harry thinks of him as a son anyway. You really can't name two kids the same. Not cool. And, his first born is Jame Sirius. Again, can't name kids the same. I do find it interesting that he didn't include Hagrid. That one, I've got nothing for. Maybe he was naming his kids after the dead, to keep them alive somehow? And Hagrid survived, so...that's all I got. Dumbledore and Snape are ridiculously flawed individuals, but great characters. And I think Harry empathizes because he has also been cast in an extreme light: a hero or a villain. Dumbledore was almost universally beloved. Snape was almost universally despised. Harry is both at one point or the other, but in the end, both men did the right thing. Just like Harry did. I think by naming his son after them, he's allowing that a person can be both good and bad and still be brave; that they can still do the right thing even when the choice is hard. I mean, this is the kid he tells about the Sorting Hat, and that Slytherin is a good house despite popular assumptions. 
> 
> It's complicated, that's all I'm saying. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr: bringonthedeluge


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